  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. |
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