His hunger, while the ripening berries plucked
From wayside thickets grant an easy meal.
He gladly shuns the luxuries of kings.
Let mighty lords from anxious cups of gold
Their nectar quaff; for him how sweet to catch
With naked hand the water of the spring!520
More certain slumber soothes him, though his couch
Be hard, if free from care he lay him down.
With guilty soul he seeks no shameful deeds
In nooks remote upon some hidden couch,