The eternal feminine

When I was a freckled bit bairn

And cam in frae my ploys to the fire,

Wi' my buits a' clamjamphried wi' shairn

And my jaicket a' speldered wi' mire,

I got gloomin' and glunchin' and paiks,

And nae bite frae the press or the pan,

And my auld grannie said as she skelped me to bed,

'Hech, sirs, what a burden is man!'

When I was a lang-leggit lad,

At waddin's and kirns a gey cheild,

I hae happit a lass in my maud

And gone cauldrife that she micht hae beild,

And convoyed her bye bogles and stirks,

A kiss at the hindmost my plan;

But a' that I fand was the wecht o' her hand,

And 'Hech, sirs, what a burden is man!'

When Ailie and me were made yin

We set up in a canty bit cot;

Sair wrocht we day oot and day in,

We were unco content wi' oor lot.

But whiles wi' a neebor I'd tak

A gless that my heid couldna stan';

Syne she'd greet for a week, and nae word wad she speak

But 'Hech, sirs, what a burden is man!'

She dee'd, and my dochter and me

For the lave wi' ilk ither maun shift.

Nae tentier lass could ye see;

The wooers cam doun like a drift;

But sune wi' an unco blae glower

Frae the doorstep they rade and they ran,

And she sigh to hersel', as she gae'd to the well

'Hech sirs, what a burden is man!'

She's mairrit by noo and she's got

A white-heided lass o' her ain.

White-heided mysel, as I stot

Roond the doors o' her shouther I'm fain.

What think ye that wean said yestreen?

I'll tell ye, believe't if ye can;

She primmed up her mou' and said saft as a doo,

'Hech, sirs, what a burden is man!'