My Lodging Is On The Cold Ground,

One Wife Is Too Much For Most Husbands To Bear, But Two At A Time There's No Mortal Can Bear.

Whence Is Thy Learning? Hath Thy Toil O'er Books Consumed The Midnight Oil?

Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise. For Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

Who Hath Not Heard The Rich Complain Of Surfeits, And Corporeal Pain? He Barr'd From Every Use Of Wealth, Envies The Ploughman's Strength And Health.

If With Me You'd Fondly Stray Over The Hills And Far Away.