O Donald! ye are just the man
Who, when he's got a wife,
Begins to fratch— nae notice ta'en—
They're strangers a' their life.
The fan may drop— she takes it up,
The husband keeps his chair;
She hands the kettle— gives his cup—
Without e'en— thank ye, dear.”
Now, truly, these slights are but toys;
But frae neglects like these,
The wife may soon a slattern grow,
And strive nae mair to please.
For wooers ay do all they can
To trifle wi' the mind;
They hold the blaze of beauty up,
And keep the poor things blind.
But wedlock tears away the veil,
The goddess is nae mair;
He thinks his wife a silly thing,
She thinks her man a bear.
Let then the lover be the friend—
The loving friend for life;
Think but thysel the happiest spouse,
She'll be the happiest wife.