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I
WHEN Darby saw the setting sun, | |
| He swung his scythe, and home he run, | |
| Sat down, drank off his quart, and said, | |
| “My work is done, I ’ll go to bed.” | |
| “My work is done!” retorted Joan, | 5 |
| “My work is done! your constant tone; | |
| But hapless woman ne’er can say, | |
| ‘My work is done,’ till judgment day. | |
| You men can sleep all night, but we | |
| Must toil.”—“Whose fault is that?” quoth he. | 10 |
| “I know your meaning,” Joan replied, | |
| “But, Sir, my tongue shall not be tied; | |
| I will go on, and let you know | |
| What work poor women have to do: | |
| First, in the morning, though we feel | 15 |
| As sick as drunkards when they reel,— | |
| Yes, feel such pains in back and head | |
| As would confine you men to bed, | |
| We ply the brush, we wield the broom, | |
| We air the beds, and right the room; | 20 |
| The cows must next be milked—and then | |
| We get the breakfast for the men. | |
| Ere this is done, with whimpering cries, | |
| And bristly hair, the children rise; | |
| These must be dressed, and dosed with rue, | 25 |
| And fed—and all because of you: | |
| We next”—Here Darby scratched his head, | |
| And stole off grumbling to his bed; | |
| And only said, as on she run, | |
| “Zounds! woman’s clack is never done.” | 30 |
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II
At early dawn, ere Phœbus rose, | |
| Old Joan resumed her tale of woes; | |
| When Darby thus—“I ’ll end the strife, | |
| Be you the man and I the wife: | |
| Take you the scythe and mow, while I | 35 |
| Will all your boasted cares supply.” | |
| “Content,” quoth Joan, “give me my stint.” | |
| This Darby did, and out she went. | |
| Old Darby rose and seized the broom | |
| And whirled the dirt about the room: | 40 |
| Which having done, he scarce knew how, | |
| He hied to milk the brindled cow. | |
| The brindled cow whisked round her tail | |
| In Darby’s eyes, and kicked the pail. | |
| The clown, perplexed with grief and pain, | 45 |
| Swore he ’d ne’er try to milk again: | |
| When turning round, in sad amaze, | |
| He saw his cottage in a blaze: | |
| For as he chanced to brush the room, | |
| In careless haste, he fired the broom. | 50 |
| The fire at last subdued, he swore | |
| The broom and he would meet no more. | |
| Pressed by misfortune, and perplext, | |
| Darby prepared for breakfast next; | |
| But what to get he scarcely knew— | 55 |
| The bread was spent, the butter too. | |
| His hands bedaubed with paste and flour, | |
| Old Darby labored full an hour: | |
| But, luckless wight! thou couldst not make | |
| The bread take form of loaf or cake. | 60 |
| As every door wide open stood, | |
| In pushed the sow in quest of food; | |
| And, stumbling onwards, with her snout | |
| O’erset the churn—the cream ran out. | |
| As Darby turned the sow to beat, | 65 |
| The slippery cream betrayed his feet; | |
| He caught the bread trough in his fall, | |
| And down came Darby, trough, and all. | |
| The children, wakened by the clatter, | |
| Start up, and cry, “Oh! what ’s the matter?” | 70 |
| Old Jowler barked, and Tabby mewed, | |
| And hapless Darby bawled aloud, | |
| “Return, my Joan, as heretofore, | |
| I ’ll play the housewife’s part no more: | |
| Since now, by sad experience taught, | 75 |
| Compared to thine my work is naught; | |
| Henceforth, as business calls, I ’ll take, | |
| Content, the plough, the scythe, the rake, | |
| And never more transgress the line | |
| Our fates have marked, while thou art mine. | 80 |
| Then Joan, return, as heretofore, | |
| I ’ll vex thy honest soul no more; | |
| Let ’s each our proper task attend— | |
| Forgive the past, and strive to mend.” | |
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