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