There was a jolly miller once,
Lived on the River Dee;
He worked and sang, from morn read more

There was a jolly miller once,
Lived on the River Dee;
He worked and sang, from morn to night;
No lark so blithe as he.
And this the burden of his song,
Forever used to be,--
"I care for nobody, not I,
If no one cares for me."

Ten poor men sleep in peace on one straw heap, as Saadi sings,
But the immensest empire is too read more

Ten poor men sleep in peace on one straw heap, as Saadi sings,
But the immensest empire is too narrow for two kings.

Enjoy the present hour, be thankful for the past,
And neither fear nor wish th' approaches of the last.

Enjoy the present hour, be thankful for the past,
And neither fear nor wish th' approaches of the last.

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet read more

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown:
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.

Those who want much, are always much in need; happy the man to
whom God gives with a sparing read more

Those who want much, are always much in need; happy the man to
whom God gives with a sparing hand what is sufficient for his
wants.
[Lat., Multa petentibus
Desunt multa; bene est cui deus obtulit
Parca quod satis est manu.]

Let me posses what I now have, or even less, so that I may enjoy
my remaining days, if read more

Let me posses what I now have, or even less, so that I may enjoy
my remaining days, if Heaven grant any to remain.
[Lat., Sit mihi quod nunc est, etiam minus et mihi vivam
Quod superest aevi--si quid superesse volunt di.]

Let's live with that small pittance which we have;
Who covets more is evermore a slave.

Let's live with that small pittance which we have;
Who covets more is evermore a slave.

In a cottage I live, and the cot of content,
Where a few little rooms for ambition too low,
read more

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.

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

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