Read, and practise these verses; and then you, with ease,
May cozen and cheat folks whenever you please.

Mr. Brown was a Gel'man, who willingly shone
With any man's labour excepting his own.
That person, you'd think, much more eminent stands,
Who lives by his talents, than one by his hands;
A pocket could fathom; this art he could shine in,
With ease and with secrecy take out the lining.

Our Culprit, at Hicks's Hall lately appearing,
In a pocket his hand had been much interfering.
The action was prov'd--to the sentence submitted--
Was immediately back to the prison committed.

Retreating, our hero was close by his guard,
And passing through Clerkenwell spacious Church-yard--
'Sir, I'll speak to the Sexton, if you'll give me leave'
Who stood on the brink of a wide and deep grave.
'You're heartily welcome,' the Officer cried;
And while, for a moment, they stood side by side,
The Culprit, before he one sentence could say,
In the grave push'd the Constable--then ran away.

Thus the pris'ner once more quite a freeman was made;
Let loose on the public to follow his trade.
The grave, it is said, puts an end to our living
And yet it can't cure a great rogue of his thieving.
The Officer, ere to the jail could arrive,
Was forc'd to submit to be buried alive.