A jar of cider and my pipe, 
In summer, under shady tree; 
A book by 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, dressen in my idle dreams, 
Will think myself the king of men.