Wedlock

ALAS! my son, you little know,

The sorrows which from wedlock flow:

Farewell, sweet hours of mirth and ease,

When you have gotten a wife to please.

Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet,

Ye little ken what ’s to betide ye yet,

The half o’ that will gane you yet

If a wayward wife obtain you yet.

Your hopes are high, your wisdom small,

Woe has not had you in its thrall;

The black cow on your foot ne’er trod,

Which makes you sing along the road.

When I, like you, was young and free,

I valued not the proudest she;

Like you my boast was bold and vain,

That men alone were born to reign.

Great Hercules and Sampson too

Were stronger far than I or you,

Yet they were baffled by their dears,

And felt the distaff and the shears.

Stout gates of brass, and well-built walls,

Are proof ’gainst swords and cannon-balls;

But nought is found, by sea or land,

That can a wayward wife withstand.