Life tests a plough in meadows made of stones,
Love takes a toll of spirit, mind and bones.
I know a woman's portion when she loves,
It's hers to give, my darling, not to take;
It isn't lockets, dear, nor pairs of gloves,
It isn't marriage bells nor wedding cake,
It's up and cook, although the belly ache;
And bear the child, and up and work again,
And count a sick man's grumble worth the pain.
Will she do this, and fifty times as much?'