All, was heard, 'Ye tyrants, fear!
The dawn of freedom's drawing near—
Woman's Rights and Suffrage.'
"A meek old man, in accents wild,
Cried,'Sal! turn back and nurse our child!'
She bent on him a withering look,
Her bony fist at him she shook.
And screeched, 'Ye brute! ye think I'm flat
To mend your clo'es and nurse your brat?
Nurse it yourself; I'll change the plan,