The world's a strange world, child, it must be confest,
We all of distress have our share;
But since I must struggle to live with the rest,
By my troth 'tis no great matter where.

We all must put up with what fortune has sent,
Be therefore one's lot poor or rich,
So there is but a portion of ease and content,
By my troth 'tis no great matter which.

II.

A living's a living, and so there's an end;
If one honestly gets just enow,
And something to spare for the wants of a friend,
By my troth 'tis no great matter how.

In this world about nothing we busy'd appear;
And, I've said it again and again,
Since quit it one-must, if ones conscience be clear,
By my troth 'tis no great matter when.