Main Text
Freely translated. The first six stanzas are chiefly the work of William Lucas Collins.
They’re always abusing the women
As a terrible plague to men:
They say we’re the root of all evil,
And repeat it again and again;
Of war, and quarrels, and bloodshed,
All mischief, be what it may!
And pray, then, why do you marry us,
If we’re all the Plagues you say?
And why do you take such care of us,
And keep us so safe at home,
And are never easy a moment
If ever we chance to roam?
When you ought to be thanking heaven
That your Plague is out of the way,
You all keep fussing and fretting —
“Where is my Plague today?”
If a Plague should dine with strangers,
And wear herself out having fun,
You’ll prowl through all of the bedrooms
Just to check who’s asleep in each one.
If a Plague peeps out of the window,
Up go the eyes of men;
If she blushingly hides, they keep staring
Until she looks out again.
Now, it’s clear to anyone watching
That women are better than men,
And putting them up for comparison
Will prove it again and again.
Charminus challenged Miss Sea-Fight
And suffered a humbling defeat;
For the Spartans trounced him at Syme,
Which cost him command of the fleet.
Miss Land-Battle’s got you all beaten.
For years now you’ve raised up no Prince
Like the heroes that triumphed at Marathon, —
You men haven’t troubled her since.
Cleophan’s war-talk was pretty,
But he quailed before Sparta’s ships
And brought less joy to our City
Than Salabaccho brought with her lips.
And what about last year’s Senators
Who gave up their seats in a rout?
Do you honestly think that Miss Prudence
Would have sold our democracy out?
Your pockets are heavy with money
Drained from the taxpayer’s purse,
Which you spend on luxury carriages;
Can’t you see your sex is the worse?
For we women take from our husbands
At most a handful of corn:
And we serve on your plates in the evening
Whatever we stole in the morn.
