I am ashamed the women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace,
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway
When they are bound to serve, love and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
So, wife, hold your temper and meekly put
Your hand 'neath the sole of your husband's foot,
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready,
Ready,
May it do him ease.