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　　Contented Wi' Little And Cantie Wi' Mair

　　Tune—“Lumps o' Puddin'.”

　　Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,

　　Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care,

　　I gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang,

　　Wi' a cog o' gude swats and an auld Scottish sang.

　　Chorus—Contented wi' little, &c.

　　I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;

　　But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught;

　　My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,

　　And my Freedom's my Lairdship nae monarch dare touch.

　　Contented wi' little, &c.

　　A townmond o' trouble, should that be may fa',

　　A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a':

　　When at the blythe end o' our journey at last,

　　Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?

　　Contented wi' little, &c.

　　Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way;

　　Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:

　　Come Ease, or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain,

　　My warst word is: “Welcome, and welcome again!”

　　Contented wi' little, &c. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns