While Laura’s arm, with tender feeling,
Embraced me on the couch, the fox
Her worthy husband from my box
My banknotes quietly was stealing.
My pockets now have got no cash in!
Was Laura’s kiss a simple lie?
Ah! what is truth? In days gone by
Thus Pilate ask’d, his hands while washing.
This evil world, decay’d and rotten,
I soon shall ne’er again behold;
I see that he who has no gold
Will very soon be quite forgotten.
For you, pure souls, whose habitation
In yonder realms of light I see,
My bosom yearns. No wants have ye,
So stealing is not your vocation.