The Parson he rides with a jingling pouch,
How it blabs of the rifled poor!
The Courtier he lolls in his gilded coach,
How it smacks of a sinecure!
The Lawyer revolves in his whirling chaise
Sweet thoughts of a mischief done;
And the Lady that knoweth the card she plays
Is counting her guineas won!
"Ho, Lady!—What, hollo, ye sinless men!
My claim ye can scarce refuse;
For when honest folk live on their neighbours, then
They encroach on the Robber's dues!"
The Lady changed cheek like a bashful maid,
The Lawyer talk'd wondrous fair,
The Parson blasphemed, and the Courtier pray'd.
And the Robber bore off his share.
"Hurra! for the revel! my steed, hurra!
Thorough bush, thorough brake go we!
It is ever a virtue when others pay
To ruffle it merrily!"
Oh! there never was life like the Robber's—so
Jolly, and bold, and free;
And it's end?—why, a cheer from the crowd below,
And a leap from a leafless tree!
