Classic Poem

O, the apron we carry before us,
This plentiful till
Commands what we will.
It makes ev'ry mortal adore us,
So happy are butchers' wives.

To keep out the cold in the morning,
We've always a pot
Of something's that hot,
Our husbands to hinder us scorning,
So happy are butchers' wives.

At noon, wherever we dine, too,
We eat of the best
Which nicely is dress'd;
Nor want we our share of good wine, too,
So happy are butchers' wives.

All night at each other's houses,
With a supper and song
When evenings are long,
We regale with our neighbours and spouses,
So happy are butchers' wives.

Then home to rest retiring,
The curtain's drawn
Till morning's slow dawn.
There needs no great enquiring
How happy are butchers wives!