Washing Day
I 'ave studied 'em in bunches an' I've read 'em one be one,
An' there isn't much between 'em when the 'ole thing's said an' done.
An' I've sort o' studied wimmin—fer I've met a tidy few—
An' there's times, when I wus younger, when I kids meself I knew.
But 'im 'oo 'opes to count the stars or measure up the sea,
'E kin 'ave a shot at woman, fer she's fairly flummoxed me...
("I'll 'ave to 'ave some wood," she sez, an' sez it most perlite
An' secret to a pair uv socks; an' jams a peg in, tight.)
Now, a woman, she's a woman. I 'ave fixed that fer a cert.
They're just as like as rows uv peas from 'at to 'em uv skirt.
An' then, they're all so different, yeh find, before yeh've done,
The more yeh know uv all uv 'em the less yeh know uv one.
An' then, the more yeh know uv one... (She gives 'er 'air a touch:
"The stove-wood's nearly done," she sez. "Not that it matters much.")
