I was a young man, I was a rover,
Nothing would satisfy me but a wife.
Soon as I reached the age of twenty
Weary was I of a single life.

Now when I was a young man, I was a rover,
Nothing wouldn't satisfy me but a wife.
Along long ere I was the age of twenty
Weary I was of a single life.

Kissing and clapping was my occupation,
Among the females I did roam.
Now I am married and I live at my leisure
But the poor man's labours are never o'er.

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
Or the nightingale at the break of day.

When the first time I married my wife Janet,
Out of her company I could not stay.
Her voice it was sweeter than the lark or the linnet
Or 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
So the poor man's labour's never done.

But now she's fairly altered her meaning,
Now she's fairly altered her tune.
Nothing but scoldings comes up her throat
So the poor man's labours are never done.

The very first year that we were married
Scarce could I get one half hour's sleep.
With her two heels she rubbed my shins,
Cries, “Husband dear, put down your feet.”

In the first half year that we was married
Scarce did I get one a-half hour's sleep.
With her two heels she rubbed my shins,
Says, “Husband dear, put down your feet.”

And when I asked her what was the meaning
Her answer to me was a “Come, come, come.”
Young men's wives they must have pleasures
So the poor man's labours are never done.

In the next half year that we was married
She brought to me our loving babe.
Sat me down to rocking and cradle
And give it a gaudy when it await.

The baby cried, she bitterly scolded,
Down to the door I was forced for to run.
Without trousers, wig or a waistcoat,
The poor man's labour's never done.

When it cried, she bitterly scolded,
To the door I was forced to run.
Without trousers, a wig or a waistcoat,
The poor man's labours are never done.

I went up to the top of the hill
For 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.

So it's I went up to the top of the hill
To view my sheep, they 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?
She was lying in her bed, the fire up beside her,
She said, “Young man, is the kettle on?”

When I came back both wet and weary,
Wet and weary, where could I run?
She was lying in her bed, the fire up beside her,
She said, “Young man, is the kettle on?”

And as I was a-sitting by the side of the fire,
My wife come in as black as a gun.
Slap! come her fist into my face
So the poor man's labours are never done.

I'll go home to my aged mother,
She'll be sitting all alone;
Says there's plenty young women to be had
Why should I be tied to one?

So it's I'll go to my aged mother
She is a-sitting there all alone;
Says there's plenty of young women to be had
So why shouldn't I be tied to one?

Take the second one and do try her,
And if you find that she will not do,
Take the third one and then a fourth
And then you'll find your follies new.

All young men that is to marry
Though they'll grieve you ever more,
Death o Death, come take my wife
And then my sorrows will be o'er.

So it's all young men that means for to marry
Be sure and wait for a good, good wife.
And never marry my wife's sister
For she'll grieve you all your life.

Never marry a mother's daughter,
For she'll grieve you ever more.
Oh Death come and take my wife
And then my sorrows will be o'er.