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She would rather be an old man's darling than a young man's warling.

Wives are young men's mistresses; companions for middle age; and old men's nurses.

Now voe me I can zing on my business abrode: Though the storm do beat down on my poll, There's a wife brighten'd vire at the end of my road, An' her love, voe the jay o' my soul.

And while the wicket falls behind Her steps, I thought if I could find A wife I need not blush to show I've little further now to go.

My fond affection thou hast seen, Then judge of my regret To think more happy thou hadst been If we had never met! And has that thought been shared by thee? Ah, no! that smiling cheek Proves more unchanging love for me Than labor'd words could speak.

Without thee I am all unblessed, And wholly blessed in thee alone.

If thy brother, the son of thy mother, or thy son, or thy daughter, or the wife of thy bosom, or thy friend, which is as thine own soul, entice thee secretly, saying, Let us go and serve other gods, which thou hast not known, thou, nor thy fathers.

Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with them according to knowledge, giving honour onto the wife, as unto the weaker vessel, and as being heirs together of the grace of life; that your prayers be not hindered.

A foolish son is the calamity of his father: and the contentions of a wife are a continual dropping.

She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.

So bent on self-sanctifying,-- That she never thought of trying To save her poor husband as well.

In thy face have I seen the eternal.

Were such the wife had fallen to my part, I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart.

She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonny wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.

Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life! The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!

Thy wife is a constellation of virtues; she's the moon, and thou art the man in the moon.

What is there in the vale of life Half so delightful as a wife, When friendship, love, and peace combine To stamp the marriage-bond divine?

The wife was pretty, trifling, childish, weak; She could not think, but would not cease to speak.

Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead, To find such numbers who will serve instead: And in whatever state a man be thrown, 'Tis that precisely they would wish their own.

In every mess I find a friend, In every port a wife.