The Wayward Wife.
Alas! my ſon, you little know
The ſorrows that from wedlock flow;
Farewel to every day of eaſe,
When you have got a wife to pleaſe.
Sae bide you yet, and bide you yet,
Ye little ken what’s to betide you yet;
The half of that will gain ye yet,
If a wayward wife obtain ye yet.
You’re experience is but ſmall,
As yet you’ve met with little thrall:
The black cow on your feet ne’er trode,
Which gars you ſing along the road.
Sae bide you yet. &c.
Sometimes the rock, ſometimes the reel,
Or ſome piece of the ſpinning-wheel,
She will drive at you with good-will,
And then ſhe’ll ſend you to the de’il
When I, like you, was young and free,
I valu’d not the proudeſt ſhe;
Like you I vainly boaſted then,
That men alone were born to reign.
Great Hercules and Sampſon too,
Were ſtronger men than I or you,
Yet they were baffled by their dears,
And felt the diſtuff and the ſheers.
