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Poem	Indeed this is the sweet life! my hand Is under no proud man's command; There is no voice to break my rest Before a bird has left its nest; There is no man to change my mood, When 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 stranger orders send, Or hear my curses fast and thick, Which in his purse-proud throat would stick Like burrs. 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.
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