In honor of Mother's Day, this month's free tab is an arrangement of the traditional American folksong "Housewife's Lament", aka "Life is a Toil", and also sometimes found under the title of "Housekeeper's Woes".  The lyrics were found penned in the diary of Sara A. Price, who lived near Ottawa, Illinois in the late 1800's.  However,  there is no evidence that she actually created the poem.  Rather, there is evidence that the song was being "popularized" around that time, and she merely copied them down in order to learn them.  Slightly different versions of the song dating to around the same time have been collected from such disparate parts of the country as New York, Tennessee, Florida, Kansas, and Oregon.

The melody is thought to have been based on an Irish jig that was popular at the time, though there are many variations of it as well.  The one arranged here is based on the version found in "Folksongs of the Catskills".

The song has sometimes been seen as a "protest song" to support women's rights, or at least to call attention to the plight of the housewife.  It no doubt has survived in folk music circles because of it's humorous lyrics.  So learn the words, and sing them with gusto in honor of mothers and housewives everywhere!

In music and friendship,

--Tull

Here are the complete set of lyrics:

One day I was walking I heard a complaining,
And spied a poor 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:

    Life is a toil and love is a trouble,
    Beauty will vanish and riches will flee,
    Pleasures will dwindle and prices they double,
    And nothing is as I would wish it to be.
 

There's too much of worriment goes into a bonnet,
There's too much of ironing goes into a shirt.
There's nothing that's worth all the time you spend on it,
There's nothing that lasts us but trouble and dirt.
 

In March it is mud, it is snow in December,
The midsummer breezes are loaded with dust.
In fall the leaves litter, in rainy September
The wallpaper rots and the candlesticks rust.
 

There are worms in the cherries and slugs on the roses,
There are ants in the sugar and mice in the pies.
The rubbish of spiders no mortal supposes
And ravaging roaches and damaging flies.

It's sweeping at six and it's dusting at seven,
It's vittles at eight and it's dishes at nine.
It's potting and panning from ten till eleven,
We scarce break our fast till we plan how to dine.
 

From floor to the ceiling and from corner to center,
Forever at work and forever alert,
No rest for a day lest the enemy enter,
I spend my whole life in a battle with dirt.
 

Last night in my dreams I was stationed forever,
On a far little rock in the midst of the sea.
My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor
To sweep off the waves 'ere they swept over me.
 

(added later)
 

Alas, 'twas no dream, ahead I behold it,
I see I am helpless my fate to avert.
She laid down her broom, and her apron she folded,
She laid down and died and was buried in dirt.