There was a jolly miller once,
Lived on the River Dee;
He worked and sang, from morn to night;
No lark so blithe as he.
And this the burden of his song,
Forever used to be,—
"I care for nobody, not I,
If no one cares for me."
Bickerstaff—Love in a Village. Act I. Sc.5.
| seealso = (See also Burns)
| topic =
| page = 134
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Some things are of that nature as to make
One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.
Bunyan—The Author's Way of Sending Forth
his Second Part of the Pilgrim. L. 126.
Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.
Burns—Contented wi' Little.
I'll be merry and free,
I'll be sad for nae-body;
If nae-body cares for me,
I'll care for nae-body.
Burns—Nae-body.
| seealso = (See also Bickerstaff)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>With more of thanks and less of thought,
I strive to make my matters meet;
To seek what ancient sages sought,
Physic and food in sour and sweet,
To take what passes in good part,
And keep the hiccups from the heart.
John Byrom—Careless Content.
I would do what I pleased, and doing what
I pleased, I should have my will, and having
my will, I should be contented; and when one
is contented, there is no more to be desired;
and when there is no more to be desired, there
is an end of it.
| author = Cervantes
| work = Don Quixote.
| place = Pt. I. Bk. IV.
Ch.XXIII.
In a cottage I live, and the cot of content,
Where a few little rooms for ambition too low,
Are furnish'd as plain as a patriarch's tent,
With all for convenience, but nothing for show.
Like Robinson Crusoe's, both peaceful and pleasant,
By industry stor'd, like the hive of a bee;
And the peer who looks down with contempt on a
Can ne'er be look'd up to with envy by me.
John Collins—How to be Happy. Song in his
Scripscrapologia.
We'll therefore relish with content,
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our pow'r;
For, if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudent to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.
Nathaniel Cotton—The Fireside. St. 10.
Enjoy the present hour, be thankful for the past,
And neither fear nor wish th' approaches of the
last.
Cowley—Imitations. Martial.
| place = Bk. X. Ep. XLVII.
Give what thou wilt, without thee we are poor;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.
What happiness the rural maid attends,
In cheerful labour while each day she spends!
She gratefully receives what Heav'n has sent,
And, rich in poverty, enjoys content.
Gay—Rural Sports. Canto II. L. 148.
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment
fails,
And honour sinks where commerce long prevails.
| author = Goldsmith
| work = The Traveller. L. 91.
Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd.
| author = Goldsmith
| work = The Traveller. L. 210.
Happy the man, of mortals happiest he,
Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free;
Whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment,
But lives at peace, within himself content;
In thought, or act, accountable to none
But to himself, and to the gods alone.
| author = Geo. Granville
| cog = (Lord Lansdowne)
| work = Epistle to Mrs. Higgons,
| note = 1690. L. 79.
| topic =
| page = 134
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown:
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such
bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
Robert Greene—Song. Farewell to Folly.
Let's live with that small pittance which we
have;
Who covets more is evermore a slave.
| author = Herrick
| work = The Covetous Still Captive.
Quanto quisque sibi plura negaverit,
A dis plura feret. Nil cupientium
Nudus castra peto.
The more a man denies himself, the more he
shall receive from heaven. Naked, I seek the
camp of those who covet nothing.
Horace—Carmina. III. 16. 21.
Multa petentibus
Desunt multa; bene est cui deus obtulit
Parca quod satis est manu.
Those who want much, are always much in
need; happy the man to whom God gives with
a sparing hand what is sufficient for his wants.
Horace—Carmina. III. 16. 42.
Quod satis est cui contigit, nihil amplius optet.
Let him who has enough ask for nothing
more.
Horace—Epistles. I. 2. 46.
Sit mihi quod nunc est, etiam minus et mihi
vivam
Quod superest aevi—si quid superesse volunt di.
Let me possess what I now have, or even
less, so that I may enjoy my remaining days,
if Heaven grant any to remain.
Horace—Epistles. I. 18. 107.
