Ah, perhaps, in some moment of drowth and despair, When her linen got scarce, and her washing grew rare-- When the sum of her suds might be summ'd in a bowl, And the rusty cold iron quite enter'd her soul-- When, perhaps, the last glance of her wandering eye Had caught the "Cock Laundresses' Coach" going by, Or her lines that hung idle, to waste the fine weather, And she thought of her wrongs and her rights both together, In a lather of passion that froth'd as it rose, Too angry for grammar, too lofty for prose, On her sheet--if a sheet were still left her--to write, Some remonstrance like this then, perchance, saw the light-- FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 216: Geisers, the boiling springs in Iceland.] [Footnote 217: Query, _purly_?--Printer's Devil.] LETTER OF REMONSTRANCE FROM BRIDGET JONES, TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN FORMING THE WASHING COMMITTEE. It's a shame, so it is,--men can't Let alone Jobs as is Woman's right to do--and go about there Own-- Theirs Reforms enuff Alreddy without your new schools For washing to sit Up,--and push the Old Tubs from their stools! But your just like the Raddicals,--for upsetting of the Sudds When the world wagged well enuff--and Wommen washed your old dirty duds, I'm Certain sure Enuff your Ann Sisters had no stream Ingins, that's Flat,-- But I Warrant your Four Fathers went as tidy and gentlemanny for all that-- I suppose your the Family as lived in the Great Kittle I see on Clapham Commun, some times a very considerable period back when I were little, And they Said it went with Steem,--But that was a joke! For I never see none come of it,--that's out of it--but only sum Smoak-- And for All your Power of Horses about your Ingins you never had but Two In my time to draw you About to Fairs--and curse you, you know that's true! And for All your fine Perspectuses,--howsomever you bewhich 'em, Theirs as Pretty ones off Primerows Hill, as ever a one at Mitchum, Thof I cant sea What Prospectives and washing has with one another to Do-- It aant as if a Bird'seye Hankicher can take a Bird'shigh view! But Thats your lookout--I've not much to do with that--But pleas God to hold up fine, Id show you caps and pinners and small things as lillywhit as Ever crosst the Line Without going any Father off then Little Parodies Place, And Thats more than you Can--and Ill say it behind your face-- But when Folks talks of washing, it ant for you too Speak,-- As kept Dockter Pattyson out of his Shirt for a Weak! Thinks I, when I heard it--Well thear's a Pretty go! That comes o' not marking of things, or washing out the marks, and Huddling 'em up so! Till Their friends comes and owns them, like drownded corpeses in a Vault, But may Hap you havint Larn'd to spel--and that ant your Fault.