6
When I’m at the benk she is mending the cleadin’,
She’s darnin’ the stockings when I sole the shoon;
Our cracks keeps us cheery—-we work till we’re weary,
An’ syne we sup sowans, when ance we are done.
She's bakin a scone while I'm smokin’ my cutty,
When I’m i’ the stable she’s milkin’ the kye,
I envy not kings, when the gloamin’ time brings
The canty fireside to my Janet an’ I!
Aboon our auld heads we’ve a decent clay biggin’.
That keeps out the cauld when the simmer’s awa;
We’ve twa wabs o’ linen o’ Janet’s ain spinnin’,
As thick as dog-lugs, an’ as white as the snaw!
We've a kebbuck or twa, an’ some meal i’ the girnel,
Yon sow is our ain that plays grumph at the door;
An’ something, I’ve guess’d, ’s in yon auld painted kist,
That Janet, fell bodie, ’s laid up to the fore!
Nae doubt, we have haen our ain sorrows and troubles,
Aften times pouches toom, an’ hearts fu’ o’ care;
But still, wi’ our crosses, our sorrows an’ losses,
Contentment, be thankit, has aye been our share!
I’ve an auld roosty sword, that was left by my father
Whilk ne’er shall be drawn till our king has a fae;
We hae friends ane or twa, that aft gie us a ea’,
To laugh when we’re happy, or grieve when we’re wae
The laird may hae gowd mair than schoolmen can reckon,
An’ flunkies to watch ilka glance o’ his e’e;
His lady, aye braw, may sit in her ha’,
But are they mair happy than Janet an’ me?
A’ ye, wha ne’er ken’t the straught road to be happy,
Wha are na content wi’ the lot that that ye dree,
Come down to the dwallin' of whilk I’ve been tellin’
Ye’se learn’t by lookin’ at Janet an’ me
