I
when darby saw the setting sun,
He swung his scythe, and home he run,
Sat down, drank off his quart, and said,
“My work is done, I ’ll go to bed.”
“My work is done!” retorted Joan,
“My work is done! your constant tone;
But hapless woman ne’er can say,
‘My work is done,’ till judgment day.
You men can sleep all night, but...