A shower of rain in July, when the corn begins to fill,
Is worth a plough of oxen, and all belongs theretill.
’Tis time to cock your hay and corn
When the old donkey blows his horn.
’Tween Martinmas and Yule,
Water’s wine in every pool.
HUNTINGDONSHIRE
Farmers’ wives! when the leaves do fall,
’Twill spoil your milk, and butter, and all.