[From A Book of Manx Songs (for WW1 troops),1914]

A SONG ON FARMERS' DAUGHTERS.

YOUNG men commencing courting,
Take warning from my fate
For truth I am reporting
About the marriage state.
A wealthy lass I sought her,
I was not slow to woo;
And wed the farmer's daughter.
Who no housekeeping knew.

Till noon she's in the vapours,
Or reading a romance;
All day she's in curl-papers,
Till midnight at the dance.
At morn a sleepy slattern,
At eve a flaunting belle;
She sets her maids a pattern
They imitate too well.
She's saucy, vain, and lazy,

And eaten up with pride,
And into tempers crazy
Keeps falling when you chide.
Her only care is what'll
With her sour self agree,
And so unto the bottle
She drives her babe and me.

Would you escape such trouble,
Such sad domestic din,
And calmly scrape the stubble
On Sunday from your chin;
Would you not find the honey
Of courtship turned to gall,
Don't wed alone for money-
Far liefer not at all.