Sam monologue (Act 3) — Betsey Bobbett: A Drama

Am I a poultice, Betsey Bobbett? Do I look like one? Am I in a condition to be one? I have done a big ironing to-day, churned ten pounds of butter, scalded two hens and picked ’em, made seven pies and a batch of nut-cakes, two pans of cookies, and mopped all over. And now I have got these twins on my hands, all this carpet yarn to double, blank verses, ahead on me, and dinner to get, and now I am called on to be a poultice. What has my sect done that they have got to be lacerator-soothers and poultices, when they have got everything else under the sun to do. Everybody says that men are stronger than wimmen, and why should they be treated like glass-china, liable to break to pieces every minute? And if they have got to be soothed, why can’t they git some man to soothe ’em? They have as much agin time as wimmen have. Evenin’s they don’t have anything else to do, they might jest as well be a soothin’ each other as to be a hangin’ round grocery stores, or settin’ by the fire whittlin’.