The Sluggard

A jar of cider and my pipe,

In summer, under shady tree;

A book of one that made his mind

Live by its sweet simplicity:

Then must I laugh at kings who sit

In richest chambers, signing scrolls;

And princes cheered in public ways,

And stared at by a thousand fools.

Let me be free to wear my dreams,

Like weeds in some mad maiden’s hair,

When she believes the earth has not

Another maid so rich and fair;

And proudly smiles on rich and poor,

The queen of all fair women then:

So I, dressed in my idle dreams,

Will think myself the king of men.