They say, at home in their houses, they can rule their spouses, and they seem rather puzzled, that their tongues should be muzzled, like D—— M—— muzzled our tykes, Ben.
Dizzy said, bless the ladies, they are well in their places, to wash and dress babbies, and lecture the daddies; and some in homes they are graceful.
They can rule in the kitchen, and cook puddings—if they can get them,—and to say they’re not clever, I’d not venture, no, never! when I think upon old Madam Rachel.
Gladstone said, my Cockawax, there is that cursed income tax upon trades and professions, I’d like to sing its dying speech and confession, for it robs the poor man of his bread, Ben.
Why not tax grunting pigs, the counsellor’s wigs, the little hedge-sparrows, the cat’s-meat man’s barrow, or the chignons they stick on their heads, Ben.
And Ben, it is said, you are politically dead, but have not pluck at present, to get buried decent, and leave the Liberals to weather the storm, Ben.
So I would advise you, and the Adullamites too, to make yourselves scarce then, at the coming election, for you are done brown as sure as you are born, Ben.
Dizzy said, Bill and I have tried, but you are not satisfied, but we will see who is the best one, at the General Election, and to do our best then we will endeavour.
Then I heard a great noise, with, We have lick’d them, my boys, and just then I awoke, and though not a soul spoke, my ears rung with
GLADSTONE FOR EVER!