CACKLE of women of either sex—of either sex or none—
Shriek and gibber of beings complex, that Time from the Ooze hath won.
Brainless blockheads, with never a doubt that theirs are the only ways—
O but we grimly kept them out, in the stern old union days.
Selfish “problems” who lust for gold, for “purity”, or for sin—
But the shameless doers of harm untold are the Cliques of the Who’ll-Get-In.
Society things of the Anti-Sosh, with the silly, empty lie,
Picking the frosted cakes of Bosh (that will hurt ’em by-and-bye).
Society frills to be trifled with, when a Government fall seems near,
Used to-day by a Reid or Smith to sweep their pathways clear;
Freetrade dames of the Gracious-Me’s, and the gushing Doodle-Doos—
Darlings that worship the Anything-ese—and the Anti-Sosh Goo-Goos.
Women-and-Girls-Protection Frights (whose looks protected too well),
Hating the innocent Out-o’-Nights, when the stuffy rooms are hell;
Saviours of children who are not lost—hounds where the frail have trod—
(Leaving a trail by infanticide crossed), who have none of their own, thank God!
These are the Scares of the healthy life, these are the ghouls of sin,
These are the tools of “our chief” (good Lord!), and the cliques of the Who’ll-Get-In.
There is another (as I’ve heard tell), fair and forty and fat,
With the purr and the velvet that hide too well the spit and claw of the cat,
As an angel of Peace and Love she comes, with a sigh for the human race.
In her heart she would ruin a hundred homes that her name might take first place.
To Lobby and Office mysteriously she goes where are barred the thin,
With a purr and a sigh and a veiled false eye—and the whisper of “Who’ll-Get-In?”
With never a thought for their country’s sake are their selfish bosoms vexed—
But, “Agent-General?—who will they make?” and “Who’ll be Prime Minister next?”
They follow to Melbourne and Downing-street with letters from Lord knows who,
With the tricks of the harlot for all they meet, so long as their names get through.
With the wriggle and smile for the big man’s while wherever “a word’s” to win—
With the lecture and screed for the people’s need, and the whisper of “Who’ll-Get-In?”