Chorus of Ladies.

In days before the War
Had turned the world to Hades
We did not soil
Our hands with toil—­
We all were perfect ladies;
To scrub the kitchen floor
Was infra dig.—­disgusting;
We’d cook, at most,
A slice of toast
Or do a bit of dusting.

    But those old days are flown,
      And now we ply our labours: 
        We cook and scrub,
        We scour and rub,
      Regardless of our neighbours;
    The steps we bravely stone,
      Nor care a straw who passes
        The while we clean
        With shameless mien
      Quite brazenly the brasses.

First Lady.  Lo!  Who approaches?  Some great dame of state?
Second Lady.  Rather I think some walking fashion-plate.
Third Lady.  What clothes!  What furs!
First Lady.  And tango boots!  How thrilling! 
They must have cost five guineas if a shilling.
Second Lady.  Sh, dears!  It eyes us hard.  What can it be?
Third Lady.  It would be spoke to.
Second Lady.           Would it?
First Lady.                     Let us see!

Enter the Super-Char.

Super-char.  My friend the butcher told me ’e’d ’eard say
You ’adn’t got no servants round this way,
And as I’ve time on ’and—­more than I wish,
Seein’ as all the kids is in munish—­
I thought as ’ow, pervided that the wige
Should suit, I might be willin’ to oblige.

Chorus of Ladies.

O joy!  O rapture! 
If we capture
Such a prize as this! 
Then we may become once more
Ladies, as in days of yore,
Lay aside the brooms and pails,
Manicure our broken nails,
Try the last complexion cream—­
What a dream
Of bliss!

  Super-Char.  ’Old on!  Let’s get to business, and no kidding! 
    I’m up for auction; ’oo will start the bidding?
  First Lady. I want a charlady from ten to four,
    To cook the lunch and scrub the basement floor.
  Super-Char. Cook?  Scrub?  Thanks!  Nothink doin’!  Next, please!  You, Mum,
    What are the dooties you would ’ave me do, Mum?
  Second Lady.  I want a lady who will kindly call
    And help me dust the dining-room and hall;
    At tea, if need be, bring an extra cup,
    And sometimes do a little washing up.
  Super-Char.  A little bit of dusting I might lump,
    But washing up—­it gives me fair the ’ump! 
    Next, please!
  Third Lady.  My foremost thought would always be
    The comfort of the lady helping me. 
    We have a cask of beer that’s solely for
    Your use—­we are teetotal for the War. 
    I am a cook of more than moderate skill;
    I’ll gladly cook whatever dish you will—­
    Soups, entrees.
  Super-Char.  Now you’re talkin’!  That’s some sense! 
    So kindly let me ’ave