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By Sarah Leech

The great of pedigree may vaunt,

For that I little care;
Ye powers let me have rhyming cant,
Of common sense a share.

Gi’e me a hale gown for my back,
Let not my food be stinted,
For wealth I dinna care a plack,
I’m with my lot contented.

Next let my cot, tho’ sma’, be snug,
And near some grove be seated,
Wi’ songsters’ notes then may my lug,
Baith eve and morn be greeted.

Let some clear streamlet be my drink,
Where bonnie flow’rets waver,
There I shall sit upon the brink,
And woo the Muses’ favour.