No Master

Indeed this is sweet life! My hand

Is under no proud man’s command;

There is no voice to break my rest

Before a bird had left its nest;

There is no man to change my mood,

Would I go nutting in the wood;

No man to pluck my sleeve and say-

I want thy labour for this day;

No man to keep me out of sight,

When that dear Sun is shining bright.

None but my friends shall have command

Upon my time, my heart and hand;

I’ll rise from sleep to help a friend,

But let no strangers orders send,

Or hear my curses fast and thick,

Which in his purse-proud throat will stick

Like burs.  If I cannot be free

To do such work as pleases me,

Near woodland pools and under trees,

You’ll get no work at all; for I

Would rather live this life and die

A beggar or a thief, than be

A working slave with no days free.