n't see why they shouldn't have Votes.
Wish _I_ was a woman, old fellow, that's flat;
I should then have a chance, and know what to be at.
I have just got the "bullet," Mate--sacked without notice,
I wonder what pull _my_ possessin' the Vote is?
_She_ hasn't got ne'er a one--_she's_ got my job,
I lose a fair crib, and the boss saves ten bob!
I've been at it five years, kept a family on it,
And she--well, the first thing she buys is a bonnet!
They're cutting us out, Mate--the Women are--straight,
And I s'pose it's no use for to kick agen Fate,
But it seems blooming hard on the wife and the kids,
_She_'s a woman, of course, though she can't earn the "quids,"
But then, being married, she's out of the hunt
For earning or votes. Look here, BILL! If they shunt
You and me, and our like, as they're doing all round,
Because Women are cheap, and there's heaps to be found,
Won't it come to this, sooner or later, my boy,
That the most of us chaps will be out of employ,
Whilst the Women will do all the work there's to do,
And keep us, and the kids, _on about half our "screw"_?
Who's a-going to gain by that there but the boss?
And for everyone else it is bound to be loss.
A nice pooty look-out! Oh, I know what they say;--
That the women work better than us for less pay,
And are much less the slaves of the pint and the pot;
What's that got to do with it? All tommy rot!
We have all got to live, and if women-folk choose
To collar our cribs or to cut down our screws,
_They_ will have to be bread-winners, leaving us chaps
To darn stockings at home with the kids on our laps.
Well, I hope as they'll like it. I tell you what, neighbour,
The world's being ruined by petticoat labour.
Besides, Mate, in spite of this Woman's Rights fuss,
Work don't make 'em better _as_ women, but wus.
It mucks 'em for marriage, and spiles 'em for home,
'Cos their notion of life is to racket and roam.
Just look at that work-girl there, her with the fringe!
She's a nice pooty specimen! Makes a chap cringe
To think of that flashy young chit as a wife,
That's what cheap woman labour will do for our life.
Oh, give 'em the Vote, and the breeks, while you're at it,
Make 'em soldiers, and Bobbies, and bosses. But, drat it,
If this blessed new-fangled game's to prewail,
I pities the beggar who's born a poor Male!

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BACKING BACO.

T