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Bob was amongst the gypsies bred,
And taught the canting lying trade;
Most nicely could he pick a pocket,
Break up a door, or else unlock it,
And then would raise the hue and cry
Against some neighbour passing by.

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He drove this trade of pocket-picking,
Of juggling, lying, shamming, tricking,
To make himself his master's crony,
Who thirsted greedily for money,
To whom he dar'd not to deny it,
Whatever way he did come by it;
And when he rob'd, he kept on pay
A tribe to give a reason why,
Which oft-times prov'd, you need not doubt it,
A reason with a rag about it.