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.