Let my lass be young, my wine be old,
My cottage snug, friends never cold,
My life no tedious tale twice told,
And happy shall I be.
Tempt me not with pageant power,
Nor give to me the Miser's hoard;
But may Contentment cheer my bower,
And Plenty deck my board.

The selfish wretch in pride may roll,
And viands cull from pole to pole;
My purse shall serve each kindred soul,
And set the hapless free.
These, when partial Fate has given,
These with health to taste the store,
Earth itself becomes a heaven,
And nought to wish for more.