It's hardly in a body's pow'r,
To keep, at times, frae being sour,
To see how things are shar'd;
How best o' chiels are whyles in want [fellows, sometimes]
While coofs on countless thousands rant [dolts, roister]
And ken na how to wair't: [spend it]
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, [trouble]
Tho' we hae little gear, [wealth]
We're fit to win our daily bread,
As lang's we're hale and fier: [lusty]
'Mair spier na, nor fear na,' [More ask not]
Auld age ne'er mind a feg; [fig]
The last o't, the warst o't,
Is only but to beg.

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en,
When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, [bones]
Is, doubtless, great distress!
Yet then content could mak us blest;
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a taste
Of truest happiness.
The honest heart that's free frae a'
Intended fraud or guile,
However Fortune kick the ba', [ball]
Has aye some cause to smile:
And mind still, you'll find still,
A comfort this nae sma'; [not small]
Nae mair then, we'll care then,
Nae farther can we fa'.