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.