But work-girls _work_, and that is more than SAM and _'is_ sort--drat 'em! When I see shirks platforming, POLL, I'm longing to get at 'em. When Women's Rights include the charnce of gettin' a fair 'earing For Women's Wrongs--wy then there'll be less bashing and less beering.
As for the Vote--well, _I_ dunno. It seems pertikler curious That politics makes a man a hass, they drives the fellers furious. If Votes sets women by the ears, as they does men, my winky! I guess 'twill make domestic life even more crabbed and kinky.
Wy _my_ young man--you know 'im, POLL--whose temper's real milky, Whose 'art is soft as 'is merstarche--and that is simply silky-- Got that rouged up on polling day, along of a young Tory As called him names. I 'ad to 'ug 'im off to stop the gory.
The chap was in the 'atting line, and thought BALFOUR a 'ero; Whereas my MICK 'as Hirish blood, and calls 'im "Niminy Nero." I don't a bit know what they meant, but if them votes should send _hus_ As fairly off our chumps as men, the shine _will_ be tremendous!
We _shall_ 'ave a fair beano then! Well, I'm not nuts on voting. Your 'ARRIET'S lay is--better pay! _That's_ not wot they're promoting, Them spouting Labour Candidates. Of women's work they're jealous; _They_ light the fire to warm _hus_? Bah! they're only good at bellows!
Their Eight 'Ours Day, and such-like rot, gives me the 'ump, dear POLLY-- Wouldn't some women like it, though? Well, 'oping for it's folly, Like longing for a seal-skin _sweet_, or a Marquige for a lover. Man's work may be too long sometimes, a woman's _never_ over.
Leastways, a _married_ woman's, POLL. MICK'S 'ot on me to "settle," But eighteen bob a week--his screw--ain't much to bile the kettle; And I ain't 'ad my fling, not yet. MICK'S reglar smart and sparky, But--when a woman's fairly spliced, it's U. P. with the larky.
And oh my, POLL, I _do_ love larks! Theayters, 'ops, and houtings Warm a girl's 'art a rare sight more than politics and spoutings. MICK says he 'as his eye upon a "flat," neat and commojus. MICK'S a good sort, but tied for life to toil--at eighteen? Ojus!
'Ard Labour, and for life, without the hoption! That's a sentence As 'ot as 'ARRY 'ORKINS'S, and no place for repentance. Ah, POLL, my girl, a woman's work _is_ Labour, and no skulking. _It_ must go on though yer old man's out of a job or sulking.