The Shorter Week

I worked for fifty hours a week, And someone said to me, 'Don't be a serf! Throw off your chains, And show the world you're free!' So I cut down my working hours And found, upon the whole, The leisure time I had to spare Good for my body's carking care, And better for my soul. I worked for forty hours a week, And someone said to me, 'Release your bonds, you shackled slave! Show all the world you're free!' So I reduced my working hours And found in leisured lull, The more I sought to play, the more Amusement had become a bore, And life was rather dull. I worked for twenty hours a week, And someone said to me 'Awake, you mutt! Snap out of it, And show the world you're free!' So I cut out my working hours And found that joy had flit. Upon black melancholia's brink, I sometimes used to sit and think And sometimes merely sit. I worked for not one hour a week, And someone said to me, 'You lazy coot! Arise and shine! You call this being free?' So I resolved I'd better far Rejoin the toiling mob. But when I rose and looked around, To my intense digust I found Someone had pinched my job.