The Coming Woman

Just look, ’tis a quarter past six, love— And not even the fires are caught; Well, you know I must be at the office— But, as usual, the breakfast’ll be late.

Now hurry and wake up the children; And dress them as fast as you can; “Poor dearies,” I know they’ll be tardy, Dear me, “what a slow, poky man!”

Have the tenderloin broiled nice and juicy— Have the toast browned and buttered all right; And be sure you settle the coffee: Be sure that the silver is bright.

When ready, just run up and call me— At eight, to the office I go, Lest poverty, grim, should overtake us— “ ’Tis bread and butter,” you know.

The bottom from stocks may fall out, My bonds may get below par; Then surely, I seldom could spare you A nickel, to buy a cigar.

All ready? Now, while I am eating, Just bring up my wheel to the door; Then wash up the dishes; and, mind now. Have dinner promptly at four;

For to-night is our Woman’s Convention, And I am to speak first, you know— The men veto us in private, But in public they shout, “That’s so.”

So “bye-bye”—In case of a rap, love, Before opening the door, you must look; O! how could a civilized woman Exist, without a man cook.