The sun o’ joy wad ne’er gae doun,
But warm and cheer her a’ her life?
Saw ye ne’er a weary wifie,
Thinkin’, gin she were a lass,
She wad aye be blithe and cheery,
Lightly as the day wad pass?
Wives and lasses, young and aged,
Think na on each other’s state:
Ilka ane it has its crosses;
Mortal joy was ne’er complete.