It’s a shame, so it is,—­men can’t Let alone
Jobs as is Woman’s right to do—­and go about there Own—­
Theirs Reforms enuff Alreddy without your new schools
For washing to sit Up,—­and push the Old Tubs from their stools! 
But your just like the Raddicals,—­for upsetting of the Sudds
When the world wagged well enuff—­and Wommen washed your old dirty duds,
I’m Certain sure Enuff your Ann Sisters had no steem Indians, that’s Flat,—­
But I warrant your Four Fathers went as Tidy and gentlemanny for all that—­
I suppose your the Family as lived in the Great Kittle
I see on Clapham Commun, some times a very considerable period back when
      I were little,
And they Said it went with Steem,—­But that was a joke! 
For I never see none come of it,—­that’s out of it—­but only sum Smoak—­
And for All your Power of Horses about your Indians you never had but Two
In my time to draw you About to Fairs—­and hang you, you know that’s true! 
And for All your fine Perspectuses,—­howsomever you bewhich ’em,
Theirs as Pretty ones off Primerows Hill, as ever a one at Mitchum,
Tho’ I cant sea What Prospectives and washing has with one another to Do—­
It aint as if a Bird’seye Hankicher could take a Birds-high view! 
But Thats your look out—­I’ve not much to do with that—­But pleas God to
      hold up fine,
I’d show you caps and pinners and small things as lilliwhit as Ever
      crosst the Line
Without going any Father off then Little Parodies Place,
And Thats more than you Can—­and I’ll say it behind your face—­
But when Folks talks of washing, it aint for you to Speak,—­
As kept Dockter Pattyson out of his Shirt for a Weak! 
Thinks I, when I heard it—­Well there’s a pretty go! 
That comes o’ not marking of things or washing out the marks, and
      Huddling ’em up so! 
Till Their friends conies and owns them, like drownded corpeses in a Vault,
But may Hap you havint Larn’d to spel—­and That aint your Fault,
Only you ought to leafe the Linnins to them as has Larn’d,—­
For if it warnt for Washing,—­and whare Bills is concarned
What’s the Yuse, of all the world, for a Womans Headication,
And Their Being maid Schollards of Sundays—­fit for any Cityation.

Well, what I says is This—­when every Kittle has its spout,
Theirs no nead for Companys to puff steem about! 
To be sure its very Well, when Their aint enuff Wind
For blowing up Boats with,—­but not to hurt human kind
Like that Pearkins with his Blunderbush, that’s loaded with hot water,
Tho’ a X Sherif might know Better, than make things for slaughtter,
As if War warnt Cruel enuff—­wherever it befalls,
Without shooting poor sogers, with sich scalding hot balls,—­
But thats not so Bad as a Sett of Bare Faced Scrubbs
As joins their Sopes together, and sits up Steem rubbing Clubs,
For washing Dirt Cheap,—­and eating other Peple’s grubs!