From all that verges on the shady,
But glorify the whiskered swain,
The lachrymose young lady.
The sirens of the “sixties” showed
No inkling of our modern Circes,
And swells had not evolved the code
That guides our precious Percys;
Woman, in short, was grave or gay,
But not a problem or a riddle,
And maidens still were taught to play