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The Housewife’s Lament

[ Roud 5472 ; Ballad Index FSC097 ; DT HSEWFLAM ; Mudcat 129897 ; trad.

Kathy Henderson with Frankie Armstrong and Sandra Kerr: My Song Is My Own

Peggy Seeger sang The Housewife’s Lament in 1968 on The Critic Group’s Argo album The Female Frolic. She noted:

This song was copied from the diary of Mrs. Sara A. Price of Ottawa, Illinois. She had seven children and lost them all. Some of her sons were killed in the American Civil War. Thus, this version can be dated about mid 19^th century. It sounds like a composed song, written in the United States, and Ireland, although the tradition is that of Irish topical ballads. It was probably popular on music-hall and minstrel platforms. It has been variously titled Life Is a Toil and Housekeeper’s Lament.

Audrey Smith sang The Housewife’s Lament on the 2005 Musical Traditions anthology Songs From the Golden Fleece. She noted:

My only American song. It was found among the papers of Sarah Price, who lived during the American Civil War. Roud has 8 instances of the song; it has been collected in Florida, but most examples are from the Appalachians—Kentucky and North Carolina. Just how it got to Mrs Price in Oregon, in the extreme northwest of that huge country, is anyone’s guess.

It has been published in 5 books and a Journal in the US, but its 1956 printing in Sing Out! probably resulted in Sandra Kerr’s selection of it for her book Sing for Your Life, which is where I found it—but I see I have subjected it to the folk process!

Jenn Butterworth sang The Housewife‘s Lament on her 2025 album Her by Design.

Pete Hawkes song A Housewife’s Lament on his 1996 album Secrets, Vows & Lies is quite another song with just a similar title.

Lyrics

Audrey Smith sings The Houseweife’s Lament

As was walking I heard a complaining,
And saw an old woman the picture of gloom.
She stared at the mud on her doorstep (’twas raining)
And this was her song as she wielded her broom,

Chorus (after each verse):
“Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble,
Beauty will fade and riches will flee.
Pleasures will dwindle and prices will double,
And nothing is as I would wish it to be.”

“There’s too much of worriment goes to a bonnet,
There’s too much of ironing goes to a shirt.
There’s nothing repays the time you waste on it,
There’s nothing stays with us but trouble and dirt.

“In March there is mud, there’s sludge in December,
The hot winds of summer are laden with dust.
In fall the leaves litter, in muddy September
The wallpaper rots and the candlesticks rust.

“There’s worm in the cherries and fly on the roses,
There’s ants in the sugar and mice in the pies.
The rubbish of spiders no human supposes,
There’s ravaging beetles and damaging flies.

“There’s sweeping at six and there’s dusting at seven,
There’s victuals at eight and there’s dishes at nine.
There’s potting and panning from ten to eleven,
We’ve scarce finished breakfast, we’re ready to dine.

“With grease and with grime from corner to centre,
Forever at war, forever alert.
No rest for a day lest the enemy enter,
I spend my whole life in a struggle with dirt.

“Last night in my dreams I was banished forever
To a far distant rock in the midst of the sea.
My sole task in life, a constant endeavour
To brush off the waves as they swept over me.

“Alas, ’twas no dream! At last I behold it!
I see I am helpless my fate to avert.”
She laid down her broom, her apron she folded,
She lay down and died and was buried in dirt.