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Poem
September 5, 1838
The Madisonian
Washington, District Of Columbia
What is this article about?
A satirical poem from a female perspective lamenting how men's clubs separate husbands from wives, disrupting domestic life and marriage. It contrasts past connubial harmony with modern neglect due to club attendance.
Clipping
OCR Quality
98%
Excellent
Full Text
From Hood's Comic Annual.
CLUBS,
TURNED UP BY A FEMALE HAND.
"Clubs! clubs! Part 'em! part 'em! Clubs! clubs!"
Ancient Cries of London.
Of all the modern schemes of man,
That time has brought to bear,
A plague upon the wicked plan
That parts the wedded pair!
My female friends they all agree
They hardly know their hubs;
And heart and voice unite with me,
"We hate the name of Clubs!"
One selfish course the wretches keep;
They come at morning chimes;
To snatch a few short hours of sleep—
Rise—breakfast—read the Times—
Then take their hats, and post away,
Like clerks or city scrubs,
And no one sees them all the day,—
They live, eat, drink at clubs!
On what they say, and what they do,
They close the club house gates;
But one may guess a speech or two,
Though shut from their debates:
"The cook's a hasher—nothing more
The children noisy grubs—
A wife's a quiz, a home's a bore"
Yes, that's the style at clubs
With Rundle, Dr. K., or Glasse,
And such domestic books,
They once put up—but now, alas!
It's hey! for foreign cooks!
"When will you dine at home, my dove!"
I say to Mister Stubbs,—
When cook can make an omelette, love,—
An omelette like the clubs!"
Time was, their hearts were only placed
On snug domestic schemes,
The book for two—united taste,—
And such connubial dreams,—
Friends dropping in at close of day,
To singles, doubles, rubs,—
A little music—then the tray—
And not a word of clubs!
But former comforts they condemn;
French kickshaws they discuss,
They take their wine, the wine takes them,
And then they favor us;—
From some offence they can't digest,
As cross as bears with cubs,
Or sleepy, dull, and queer, at best
That's how they come from clubs!
It's very fine to say, "Subscribe
To Andrews'—can't you read!"
When wives, the poor neglected tribe,
Complain how they proceed!
They better recommend at once,
Philosophy and tubs,—
A woman need not be a dunce
To feel the wrong of clubs.
A set of savage Goths and Picts,
Would seek us now and then—
They're pretty pattern-Benedicts
To guide our single men!
Indeed, my daughters both declare
"Their beaux shall not be subs,
The Whites, or Blacks, or any where,—
They've seen enough of—clubs."
They say, "without the marriage ties,
They can devote their hours
To catechize, or botanize—
Shells, Sunday schools, and flowers—
Or teach a pretty Poll new words,
Tend Covent-Garden shrubs,
Nurse dogs and chirp to little birds—
As wives do since the clubs."
Alas! for those departed days
Of social wedded life.
When married folks had married ways,
And lived like man and wife!
Oh! wedlock then was picked by none—
As safe a lock as Chubb's!
But couples, that should be as one,
Are now the two of Clubs!
Of all the modern schemes of man
That time has brought to bear,
A plague upon the wicked plan
That parts the wedded pair!
My female friends they all allow
They meet with slights and snubs,
And say, "they have no husbands now,—
They're married to their clubs!"
CLUBS,
TURNED UP BY A FEMALE HAND.
"Clubs! clubs! Part 'em! part 'em! Clubs! clubs!"
Ancient Cries of London.
Of all the modern schemes of man,
That time has brought to bear,
A plague upon the wicked plan
That parts the wedded pair!
My female friends they all agree
They hardly know their hubs;
And heart and voice unite with me,
"We hate the name of Clubs!"
One selfish course the wretches keep;
They come at morning chimes;
To snatch a few short hours of sleep—
Rise—breakfast—read the Times—
Then take their hats, and post away,
Like clerks or city scrubs,
And no one sees them all the day,—
They live, eat, drink at clubs!
On what they say, and what they do,
They close the club house gates;
But one may guess a speech or two,
Though shut from their debates:
"The cook's a hasher—nothing more
The children noisy grubs—
A wife's a quiz, a home's a bore"
Yes, that's the style at clubs
With Rundle, Dr. K., or Glasse,
And such domestic books,
They once put up—but now, alas!
It's hey! for foreign cooks!
"When will you dine at home, my dove!"
I say to Mister Stubbs,—
When cook can make an omelette, love,—
An omelette like the clubs!"
Time was, their hearts were only placed
On snug domestic schemes,
The book for two—united taste,—
And such connubial dreams,—
Friends dropping in at close of day,
To singles, doubles, rubs,—
A little music—then the tray—
And not a word of clubs!
But former comforts they condemn;
French kickshaws they discuss,
They take their wine, the wine takes them,
And then they favor us;—
From some offence they can't digest,
As cross as bears with cubs,
Or sleepy, dull, and queer, at best
That's how they come from clubs!
It's very fine to say, "Subscribe
To Andrews'—can't you read!"
When wives, the poor neglected tribe,
Complain how they proceed!
They better recommend at once,
Philosophy and tubs,—
A woman need not be a dunce
To feel the wrong of clubs.
A set of savage Goths and Picts,
Would seek us now and then—
They're pretty pattern-Benedicts
To guide our single men!
Indeed, my daughters both declare
"Their beaux shall not be subs,
The Whites, or Blacks, or any where,—
They've seen enough of—clubs."
They say, "without the marriage ties,
They can devote their hours
To catechize, or botanize—
Shells, Sunday schools, and flowers—
Or teach a pretty Poll new words,
Tend Covent-Garden shrubs,
Nurse dogs and chirp to little birds—
As wives do since the clubs."
Alas! for those departed days
Of social wedded life.
When married folks had married ways,
And lived like man and wife!
Oh! wedlock then was picked by none—
As safe a lock as Chubb's!
But couples, that should be as one,
Are now the two of Clubs!
Of all the modern schemes of man
That time has brought to bear,
A plague upon the wicked plan
That parts the wedded pair!
My female friends they all allow
They meet with slights and snubs,
And say, "they have no husbands now,—
They're married to their clubs!"
What sub-type of article is it?
Satire
What themes does it cover?
Satire Society
Moral Virtue
What keywords are associated?
Mens Clubs
Marriage Neglect
Wives Complaint
Domestic Life
Satirical Verse
Husbands Absence
What entities or persons were involved?
From Hood's Comic Annual.
Poem Details
Title
Clubs, Turned Up By A Female Hand.
Author
From Hood's Comic Annual.
Subject
Complaint Against Men's Clubs Separating Husbands From Wives
Form / Style
Rhymed Stanzas
Key Lines
Of All The Modern Schemes Of Man,
That Time Has Brought To Bear,
A Plague Upon The Wicked Plan
That Parts The Wedded Pair!
"We Hate The Name Of Clubs!"
They're Married To Their Clubs!