Classic Poem

When I was a young man I lived rarely,
I spent my time in grief and woe
For the want of a young wife to lie by me,
When my trouble did run so.

With my whack fal lor, the diddle and the dido,
Whack fal lor, the diddle aye day.

Now I hired one for my constant service,
To milk my cows and brush my shoes;
Some women take delight in a deal of pleasure;
Poor man's labour is always abused.

When I come home in the morning early
To see my flocks that were astray,
My wife she lay abed till noon
On the shortest winter's day.

When I come home all wet and weary,
No dry clothes for me to put on,
It's enough to make a poor man crazy:
Poor man's labour is never done.

The very first year that I was married
I could not get one wink of sleep,
For all night long she kept on crying,
‘Husband, do not go to sleep.’

She kicked my shins till the blood ran down 'em,
Crying, ‘Husband, my dear, my dear.’
It's very well I knew her meaning:
A poor man's labour is never done.

The second year that I was married
I had a fine baby born.
She forsook it, I took to it,
Wrapped it up and kept it warm.

One night as I sat by the fire
She came in roaring like a gun;
In my face her fist came slapping:
A poor man's work is never done.

All you men who want to marry,
Take care how you choose a wife,
For if you meet with my wife's sister,
She'll be a devil all the days of her life.

So court them long before you marry:
Women seldom prove a friend.
Well now, away with my wife and welcome,
Then my troubles will have an end.