It should not prejudice my voice that I’m not born a man, if I say something advantageous to the present situation. For I’m taxed too, and as a toll provide men for the nation.
Tis not for us to warn a wilful sinner; We stay him not, but let him run his course, Till by misfortunes rous’d, his conscience wakes, And prompts him to appease th’ offended gods.
Women, you overheated dipsomaniacs, never passing up a chance to wangle a drink, a great boon to bartenders but a bane to us–not to mention our crockery and our woolens!
