I was a young man, I was a rover
Nothing could satisfy me but a wife
When I reached the age of twenty
Weary was I of a single life
The very first year my wife I married
Out of her company I could not stay
Her voice was sweet as the lark or the linnet
The nightingale at the break of day
Now she's fairly altered her meaning
Now she's fairly changed her tune
Nothing but scolding comes from her mouth
The poor man's work is never done
The very first year my wife I married
Scarce could I get but one hour sleep
With her two knees she rubbed my shins
Husband dear, put down your feet.
The baby cried, she bitterly scolded
Down to the door I was forced for to run
Without trousers, hat or a waistcoat
The poor man's work is never done
I go up to the top of the hill
To view my sheep that had all gone astray
When I came back she was lying in her bed
At twelve o'clock on a winter's day
When I came back both wet and weary
Weary and wet, now where could I run?
Lying in her bed, the fire up beside her
Says, Young man, is the kettle on?
I'll go back to my aged mother
She'll be sitting there all alone
Says there's plenty young women to be had
Why should I be tied to one?
All young men that is to marry
Though they'll grieve you ever more
Death o death, come take my wife
And then my troubles will be yours

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