Suffragette Songs.

THERE was a young girl from a mill
Who fought with such vigour and skill
That Constable Y,
Whom she hit in the eye,
Is wearing a shade on it still.

One lady, apparently meek,
Was a golfer with muscles like teak.
A policeman, ’tis said,
Had to hop off to bed
When she whacked at his shin with a cleek.

A maid of Newcastle-on-Tyne
Desired as a martyr to shine.
She would languish, she cried,
In a gaol till she died—
But some humourist stumped up her fine.

There was a stern female of Lee
Who made for a timid M.P.,
But, eluding her grab,
He got into a cab—
For he wished to get home to his tea.

There was a young lady of Cheam,
Who couldn’t do much except scream.
But the bystanders say
She could beat—on her day—
An engine that’s letting off steam.

There was a stout lady of Chester,
Who said the disturbance distressed her.
So she sat on the ground
Till a crowd rallied round.
(It took seven men to arrest her.)