IDIOTS,
LUNATICS, PAUPERS, AND WOMEN!
by
Mary S. Doten
Reno
December 5, 1890
Oh!
say to whom of all the earth,
To day of death from day of birth,
You turn for love that's true, man!
To whom look you for tender care?
Who's ever quick your lives to share?
But some fond, loving woman? |
In
childhood's happy hours you prize
A glance from mother’s loving eyes,
Far more than from another,
And older grown, you'll seldom find
A better friend than sister kind,
That fondly loves her brother. |
Who
minds your house, who mends your clothes?
And keeps you fairly human?
And who with careful thought e’er hides
Your petty faults, from all besides,
But same true, patient woman? |
And
you, Creation's Lords, so grand,
On lofty height, self-placed, you stand
And take all as your due, man!
And never think that credit’s due
To one that's proved companion, true,
This constant, helpful woman. |
She's
not your equal, so you say,
Down on your knees, proud man, and pray
Forgiveness from each woman.
If not your equal who’s to blame?
Who makes the laws that are a shame,
And that you yet shall rue man? |
Go
hide your face, in secret blush,
Nor e’er again soft nonsense gush
Of rev’rence felt for woman.
Just let me show you where you've placed
The mother, sister, wife, who've graced
Your life, and made it true, man. |
She
must not vote, the cares of state
On her fair brow must bear no weight,
She could not understand them!
And so - with idiots, paupers, cranks,
Proud man, you claim that woman ranks!
In such low state you band them. |
Oh
man! there comes a day of fate
When you shall find, I fear too late,
That poor, down-trodden woman
Has burst the bonds that hold her fast;
That triumph comes to her at last,
And as she’s only human |
From
giddy height she’ll pull you down,
Nor let you longer wear the crown;
She'll serve you to your due, man,
And you in turn will find your rank
With idiots, pauper, silly crank,
Far, far below good woman! |
|
