THE FUDDLING DAY
Each Monday morn before I rise,
I make a fervent prayer,
Unto the gods my husband may
From tippling keep quite clear.
But O! when I his breakfast take,
To shop without delay
What anguish do I feel to hear,
It is a fuddling day.
For it's drink, drink, smoke, smoke,
Drink, drink away,
There is no comfort in the house,
Upon a fuddling day
Saint Monday brings more ills about,
For when the money's spent,
The children's clothes go up the spout,
Which causes discontent:
And then at night he staggers home,
He knows not what to say,
An ass is more a man than he,
Upon a fuddling day.
For it's drink, drink, &c.
My husband is a workman good,
No man can be more civil,
Except upon a fuddling day,
And then he is the devil;
For should I thwart his humour then,
To claret he will fly,
And I have cause to dread his looks,
Upon a fuddling day.
For it's drink, drink, &c.
A friend of mine came in one day,
'Twas cold and foggy weather,
Says I to comfort us we'll have,
A cup of max together:
My husband came is at the time,
I knew not what to say.
I'll wager shall not come again,
Upon a fuddling day,
For it's drink, drink, &c.
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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