The only reason why the subjoined is given, is to show the numerous small industries by which people could manage to eke out a living in the first half of the century.
THE WAY TO LIVE.
A man and a woman got married one day,
And thus unto each other did say,
As we the world must now begin,
We will deal in every following thing.
She. We will deal in apples, plums and pears,
He. We will mend old bellows and bottom old chairs,
She. We will buy old metal, rope and bags,
He. Yes, and I’ll go out a gathering rags.
She. We will sell red herrings and ginger pop,
He. Hot baked sheep’s head and taters hot,
She. We’ll keep a school of high degree,
He. And learn the children A. B. C,
She. We’ll salt fat bacon, butter and lard,
He. And great long songs for a penny a yard,
She. I’ll sell potash, starch and blues,
He. And I’ll go sweeping the chimney flues.
She. I’ll make bustles and lady’s frills,
He. And I’ll sell mussels and pickled eels,
She. We’ll deal in razors, strops and hones,
He. And I’ll go out a picking up bones,
She. We’ll deal in paper, take in the news,
He. And I’ll go a cobbling ladies’ shoes,
Both. And we’ll learn the ladies all complete,
To dance the Polka at threepence a week.
She. We’ll deal in lollipops, sugar and figs,
He. We’ll buy a donkey, ducks hens and pigs,
She. We’ll have a mangle, and buy old clothes,
He. And I’ll make salve for the ladies’ toes.
She. We’ll deal in pickled cabbage and eggs,
He. And make tin dishes and wooden legs.
She. We’ll deal in sausages, tripe and lard,
He. And if we can’t live, ‘twill be devilish hard.
She. We’ll deal in Oils, sperm, train and neat,
He. And I’ll make stockins for children’s feet,
She. We will sell hot muffins and home baked bread,
He. Pins and needles, cotton and thread.
She. We’ll grind old razors, scissors and knives,
He. And keep lodgings for single men and their wives,
She. We’ll deal in lobsters, shrimps and sprats,
He. And I’ll sell meat for the ladies’ cats.
She. We’ll deal in fish, fresh, boiled, and fried,
He. And let out donkeys a penny a ride,
She. I will the ladies fortune tell,
He. And I’ll cry, Old umbrellas to sell,
She. We will take in the blooming ladies bright,
He. And sleep in the garret at threepence a night,
She. I’ll sing, Come buy my Crockery ware,
He. And I’ll go dressing the ladies hair.
She. We’ll sell ripe Cherries, pea soup and milk,
He. Oranges, lemons and pickled wilks,
She. Wooden rolling-pins at the Royal Exchange,
He. And if we can’t get on we may think it strange,
(The chorus make up the last four lines of this verse.)