To a Conceited Woman

Be still, be still, and speak not back again. What right have you to answer in this strain? Whilst I'm a man, a prince of the creation, You're but a female woman by your station; A creature for man's sovereign service born, Whose fitting wages are contempt and scorn. A creature formed to dive down in the sea To fetch up sea-eggs for the likes of me; Only too grateful, when we've stilled our greed, If on our leavings you're allowed to feed. If thus I speak, I speak on public grounds, My only aim is to keep well in bounds.