Some things are of that nature as to make One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.

With more of thanks and less of thought, I strive to make my matters meet; To seek what ancient sages sought, Physic and food in sour and sweet, To take what passes in good part, And keep the hiccups from the heart.

What happiness the rural maid attends, In cheerful labour while each day she spends! She gratefully receives what Heav'n has sent, And, rich in poverty, enjoys content.

In a cottage I live, and the cot of content, Where a few little rooms for ambition too low, Are furnish'd as plain as a patriarch's tent, With all for convenience, but nothing for show: Like Robinson Crusoe's, both peaceful and pleasant, By industry stor'd, like the hive of a bee; And the peer who looks down with contempt on a peasant. Can ne'er be look'd up to with envy by me.

On the Day of Judgment , life and death are not determined by the world but by God's wisdom and law

Her prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the lasses O!