--To live
On means not yours--be brave in silks and laces,
Gallant in steeds; splendid in banquets; all
Not yours. Given, uninherited, unpaid for;
This is to be a trickster; and to filch
Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth,
Life, daily bread;--quitting all scores with "friend,
You're troublesome!" Why this, forgive me,
Is what, when done with a less dainty grace,
Plain folks call "Theft."
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A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!
A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!
In vain we call old notions fudge
And bend our conscience to our dealing.
The Ten Commandments read more
In vain we call old notions fudge
And bend our conscience to our dealing.
The Ten Commandments will not budge
And stealing will continue stealing.
'Tis bad enough in man or woman
To steal a goose from off a common;
But surely read more
'Tis bad enough in man or woman
To steal a goose from off a common;
But surely he's without excuse
Who steals a common from the goose.
Yet thanks I must you con
That you are thieves professed, that you work not
In holier read more
Yet thanks I must you con
That you are thieves professed, that you work not
In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft
In limited professions.
The Frier preached against stealing, and had a goose in his
sleeve.
[The Friar preached against stealing, and read more
The Frier preached against stealing, and had a goose in his
sleeve.
[The Friar preached against stealing, and had a goose in his
sleeve.]
The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief,
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief,
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
To keep my hands from picking and stealing.
To keep my hands from picking and stealing.
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
read more
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.
Kill a man's family, and he may brook it,
But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
Kill a man's family, and he may brook it,
But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
