My family now weep in distress, With cold and with hunger they cry, Which grieves me to see, I confess, No food, nor employment have I. The Weather is cold and severe, And I do in sorrow lament; I have no food for my Children dear, And my goods are all taken for rent. For a tradesman reduced, heave a sigh, Who in sorrow and agony grieve, And, good Christians, as you pass him by, With a little, pray, do him relieve. A little you never will miss, To one who in sorrow complain, And our heavenly Father above, The same will repay you again. Oh, you that distress never knew, May your breast such affliction ne’er feel, The sufferings that I do endure, I cannot to you half reveal. For subsistence my clothes I have sold, I wander to look for a friend, So now my sad troubles are told, And my tale I am going to end. THERE is a great deal of superstition, and folk-lore, contained in _WOMEN’S SAYINGS_. [Illustration] DRAW near, and give attention, And you shall hear my rhyme, The old women’s sayings, in the olden times High and low, rich and poor, By daylight or dark, Are sure to make Some curious remark; With some foolish idea Your brains they will bother, For some believe one thing, And some believe another. _Chorus._ _These are odds and ends Of superstitious ways, The signs and the tokens, Of my grandmother’s days._ The first thing you will see, At the house of rich or poor, To keep the witches out, A horse shoe’s o’er the door. Bellows on the table, Cause a row both day and night, If there’s two knives across, You are sure to have a fight. There’s a stranger[11] in the grate, Or, if the cat should sneeze, Or lay before the fire, It will rain or freeze. A cinder with a hole In the middle is a purse, But a long one, from the fire, Is a coffin, which is worse: A spider, ticking in the wall, Is the death watch at night, A spark in a candle, Is a letter sure as life. If your right eye itches, You’ll cry till out of breath, A winding sheet in the candle Is a sure sign of death. If your left eye itches, You will laugh outright, But the left or the right, Is very good at night, If your elbow itch, A strange bed fellow found, If the bottom of your foot itch, You’ll tread on fresh ground: If your knee itch, you’ll kneel. In a church, that’s a good’un, And if your belly itch, You’ll get a lot of pudden. If your back should itch, I do declare, Butter will be cheap, When the grass grows there: If the dog howl at night, Or mournfully cry, Or if the cock should crow, Some one will die. If you stumble upstairs, Indeed, I’m no railer, You’ll be married to a snob, Or else to a tailor.