I am Vashti, the boldest of queens,
Pretty at forty, as ever in my 'teens.
Everybody feared me, called me Queen of Spades,
Most of all my slaves, pretty Jewish maids.
How I drove them crazy, worked them to the bone,
I had no pity for them, my heart was made of stone.
The king made a feast, for hundred eighty days,
Till he lay in the gutter, his mind in a daze.
His drunken guests he promised, yea, he'd sworn,
To make me dance before them, like a slave born!
But I got a pimple on my nose, and water in my knees,
How could I entertain them with the greatest of ease?
So the foolish king many tears did shed
As he led me to the scaffold to cut off my pretty head.



re Importance of Vashti She may have been liberated in the way you describe, however she enslaved other women and mistreated them. I would not follow her example.