Let's live with that small pittance which we have; Who covets more is evermore a slave.

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; The quiet mind is richer than a crown; Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown: Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.

I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for nae-body; If nae-body cares for me, I'll care for nae-body.

Welcome maids of honour, / You do bring / In the Spring; / And wait upon her.

The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.