Why should’st thou weep, dear love, for me?
I’m way-worn and sad, ah, why then retard,
The rest that I seek in the old kirk-yard?
I am a Freeman.
I am a freeman! ’Tis my boast and my pride,
The blue sky is o’er me, the dark soil beneath,
And spreading around is the wilderness wide;
My bath is the lake, my couch is the heath,
My rod and my rifle my larder provide—