I Am A Freeman

What is this Tyrant, Plea­sure?
With what Rule and Mea­sure,
Can we weigh its Folly by?

For with every Plea­sure borne,
Is Pain, Mis­ery, and Scorn,
Such as makes a Man to cry!

Does it merit some Reflec­tion?
Should we live in Sweet Deflec­tion?
Our­selves deceived thereby?

I ask for naught but want,
So no Dæmon’s will me taunt,
As I – my Liberty – descry.

I am not to be com­manded,
’Tis the Pride that Race demanded,
I shall All the World defy!

Only to my God I bend,
Only to Him do com­mend,
Only on His Will rely.

Albeit, Not alone,
But no King sits on the Throne,
For Whom I would myself deny.

Should He take back His Domin­ions,
That might bind and cut my Pin­ions,
Ground me – nev­er­more to fly.

But, My Love, please, I implore,
Ask me not, Whom I adore,
That which makes my Will to die.

A Free Agent, I will do,
All that’s Lovely, all that’s True,
But I do it not because I must comply.

Lib­erty directs my Hand,
And I shirk from all Com­mand,
From my Ankles all the Shack­les pry.

If You’ll let me love You Free,
I will lav­ish you with Glee,
But shall never live dread Duty’s Lie.