CLEANING DAY
{"newspaper_name": "The Columbian fountain.", "edition": "01", "page": "p4", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1983, "word_count": 384, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9276000261306763], "ccnet_perplexity": [1919.0999755859375], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
~, where's the one who'd wish to see
1 man so foolish to married be?
or, consigned to toll and strife
On cleaning day, with wife
SO il goes, make haste Ann,
Brng me here that large tin pan;
Bring some water, lazy John,
Now you put the kettle OH,
Murder! murder! don't you see
You have made me spill the tea;
If Twas not in such hurry
Your dirty back would curry
Have you got the white-wash ready
DONE you spill it, carry steady
If you spill il on the floor
I'll kick you all out of the door.
Don't you touch it to the border
Of the paper my order
Where's your brushes, tubs and brooms !?
Get to scrubbing out the rooms.
Oh, my conscience! the painters come
My dear sir, our works not done
Can'tyou come another dayS
Then these things will be out Of way.
Go you Kit and wash the lamp;
OH. oh! dear what cramp
Just now struck me in the toe;
Give me that camphor, Joe;
Now help Ann TO wash the glasses
Then you polish all the brasses;
Beat the carpets, wash the floors,
Brush The blinds, and rub the, e,doors,
Garry out the dirty water;
Oh, my Joe you g hadn't ought to "
Throw the dirt against the wall,
Then brush it ofl--that's not all.
Have you got the table bright :
Hurry on, tits almost night;
| am tired, almost dead,
With severe pains in my head
Bring in that table, chair and pan,
III get supper if | can.
Now my dear you bring some wood
And make up fire-there's my hood
Under your feet, pick ii up2
What is this in this cup9
This is really now provoking,
In the corner Joe is smoking,
Splitting over my clean floor.
Clean your feet at the door;
Don't you dare to come in;
IT'S indeed a shame and sin.
This, kind reader is the way
Times spent on cleaning day.


The tea is cold,


Wife will scold, t,


Children cry,


Servants lie,


Bread is sad,


pTis too bad,


Buffers gone,


Salt we've none,


Knives are rusty,


Man is crusty,


Bottles empty,


Words plenty,


Cats are fighting,


Dogs are biting.
Who would wish TO married be,
When such pictures we do see.


Scum