II.
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t's hardly in a body's powerTo keep, at times, frae being sour,To see how things are shar'd;How best o' chiels are whiles in want.While coofs on countless thousands rant,And ken na how to wair't;But Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head,Tho' we hae little gear,We're fit to win our daily bread,As lang's we're hale and fier:"Muir spier na, nor fear na,"[4]Auld age ne'er mind a feg,The last o't, the warst o't,Is only but to beg.
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