As lang's we're hale and fier: lusty
‘Mair spier na, nor fear na,’ More ask not
Auld age ne'er mind a feg; fig
The last o't, the warst o't,
Is only but to beg.
To lie in kilns and barns at e'en,
When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, bones
Is, doubtless, great distress!
Yet then content could mak us blest;
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a taste