FEMALE CAPRICE; OR, THE STUDENT's COMPLAINT

It was, you most own, a most pitiful thing, That we must commence, and no ladies would sing, So long at our studies, and poring on Greek, And Logic, and Latin, and learning to speak, And not in return for our trouble and pains, Not a quaver to have of their holiday strains Was hard in extreme—and I'm sorry to find No reason as yet for their malice assign'd. Though tutor'd by LAW, who is music's delight, They have not a single idea of RIGHT, Or else I presume they had surely bestow'd Some elegant strains on the elegant ode; The poet, poor fellow, no doubt had his share Of trouble and thinking, his lines to prepare, And then to neglect them and fall in a pet, Was such an affront as he'll never forget.

HEREAFTER commencing, to punish the sex, With Latin and Logic their noddles we'll vex, In dark metaphysics we'll rattle away, Nor shall they be wiser for all we may say; No witty orations shall tempt them to smile, But, after haranguing on nothing awhile, We'll send them away just as dull as they came; And year after year it shall still be the same, Till each cruel creature relents—and agrees Tocry out—"Dear fellows, we'll sing what you please."