The Throublin' Things

Faith , linnets are a throuble, lad;
They must be screened an' fed,
An' sunned beyont your cabin door,
An' carried back to bed!

Faith, love it is a burthen, gerrl;
'Tis iver give an' take;
Aye, knowin' how ye give too much
An' niver count the ache!

Och, childer,' ma'am, are worrisome,
An' fret an' throuble fall
On wimmen whin their childer' come;
They have no peace at all!

But song an' love an' childer', faith,
These things you're gettin' free,
These things you've held to pest ye so,
Are th' things ye'll find can rest ye so,
Are th' things ye'll mind have blest ye so,
Whin you're as ould as me!