The Peasant

I am the peasant
I take cabbage before pheasant
My tankard I raise as high as I can
And pray for the coming of the Son of Man
There are others like me of this I can tell
Be sure there are more nobles than peasants in hell
Of the roads oft traveled it is dirt that I trod
My floor is the same and my roof is of sod
The fruits of my labor are mean and so few
Stale ale and stale bread and scraps of meat too
I toil each day at the risk of my life
I care not for the world, just my darling sick wife
I pray every night for my king and my health
With all of my riches I pray not for wealth
The land that I work may not be mine
But I own my own soul and that suits me just fine
I live but a while and my life is not pleasant
But in the end I thank God I’m a peasant