Potatoes for dinner there must be found, And there’s none for less than a penny a pound, And I must have a sixpenny gown, Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir. A pennorth of starch, a farthing blue, Twopence-halfpenny soap and potash too, A ha’porth of onions to make a stew, Three-halfpence a day small beer for you, A quartern of butter, sixpennorth of fat, And to wipe your shoes a twopenny mat, One halfpenny a day to feed the cat, Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir. Ninepence a week for old dry peas, Sixpence sugar, eightpence tea, Pepper, salt, and mustard, farthings three, Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir. One and tenpence-halfpenny, understand, Every week for firing out of hand, Threepence-halfpenny candles, a farthing sand, And threepence to bottom the frying-pan; A twopenny broom to sweep the dirt, Three-ha’porth of cloth to mend your shirt, Now don’t you think you’re greatly hurt, Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir. Clothes for Tommy, Dick, Sal, Polly, and Jane, And Jimmy and Betty must have the same; You had a sixpenny jacket in Petticoat Lane, Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir. For shaving, a halfpenny twice a week, A penny to cut your hair so neat, Threepence for the socks upon your feet, Last week you bought a tenpenny seat Besides, old chap, I had most forgot, You gave a penny for a kidney pie, all hot, And threepence for an old brown chamberpot. Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir. So now, old chap, you plainly see, If you can reckon as well as me, There is little waste in our family, Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir. There’s many a woman would think it no sin, To spend the whole in snuff and gin! When again to reckon you do begin, Recollect there’s a farthing a week for pins, To make things right my best I’ve tried, That’s economy can’t be denied. Dear wife, said he, I’m satisfied, Out of fifteen shillings a week, sir. So you women all the kingdom through, To you this might appear quite new, Just see if you the same can do, With fifteen shillings a week, sir. London: H. SUCH, Machine Printer, and Publisher, 177, Union street, Borough.--S. E. THE GREAT AGRICULTURAL SHOW. Hurrah, my lads, this is the day, When tens of thousands haste away; Rich and poor, high and low, Are off to the Agricultural Show. CHORUS. Sing the ploughboy’s song, Dance the milkman’s dance, What glorious fun, away they run, Kicking up their heels in the morning. Heigho! away they go, Jolly young fellows all of a row, Don’t get kissing the girls you know, At the Agricultural Show. Now at the Show some sights you’ll find, To delight the eye and improve the mind, Carts, waggons, patent ploughs, Horses, bulls, and Alderney cows.