Good Little Girls
ALTHOUGH of native maids the cream,We’re brought up on the English scheme—The best of allFor great and smallWho modesty adore.For English girls are good as gold,Extremely modest (so we’re told),Demurely coy—divinely cold—And we are that—and more.To please papa, who argues thus—All girls should mould themselves on us,Because we are,By furlongs far,The best of all the bunch;We show ourselves to loud applauseFrom ten to four without a pause—Which is an awkward time becauseIt cuts into our lunch.
Oh, maids of high and low degree,Whose social code is rather free,Please look at us and you will seeWhat good young ladies ought to be!
And as we stand, like clockwork toys,A lecturer papa employsTo puff and praiseOur modest waysAnd guileless character—Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—Our famous look of mild surprise(Which competition still defies)—Our celebrated “Sir!!!”Then all the crowd take down our looksIn pocket memorandum books.To diagnose,Our modest poseThe kodaks do their best:If evidence you would possessOf what is maiden bashfulness,You only need a button press—And we do all the rest.