Robert Burns

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.

Then horn for horn they stretch and strive;
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive.

Then horn for horn they stretch and strive;
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive.

The mother may forget the child
That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, read more

The mother may forget the child
That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
And all that thou hast done for me!

And there begins a lang digression
About the lords o' the creation.

And there begins a lang digression
About the lords o' the creation.

Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal, to the tyrant wife,
Who read more

Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal, to the tyrant wife,
Who has no will but by her high permission;
Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell;
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell.
Were such the wife had fallen to my part,
I'd break her spirit or I'd break her heart.