Sorrow and joy

Sorrow and joy, two sisters coy,

Ay, for our hearts are fighting:

The half of our years are teen and tears,

And half are mere delighting.

So when joy's cup is brimm'd full up,

Take no thought o' the morrow:

So fine's your bliss, ye shall not miss

To have your turn wi' sorrow.

And she with ruth will teach you truth,

She is man's very med'cin:

She'll drive us straight to heav'ns high gate,

Ay, she can stuff our heads in.

Blush not nor blench with either wench,

Make neither brag nor pother:

God send you, son, enough of one

And not too much o' t'other.