Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Dexterous Thief

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The Dexterous Thief.
A cunning wit, but graceless sinner,Who oft by swindling got a dinner,And who in all things had a wayTo beg, steal, cheat, or anything but pay;Sauntered, into a chemist's shop one day       In gleaning mood.The shopman, bowing, asked his pleasure."Sir," quoth the rogue, "'twould be a treasure',       Indeed it would,If I could buy strength, or by weight or measure;My stomach fails at such a rapid rate,I go on weekly in more weakly state;What shall I do? What do you recommend?""Steel lozenges," was answered by the attendingminister of drugs. Just thenSome one came in to buy a pen-Nyworth of something or another;The shopman turned his back—and t'other       (The rogue I mean),Noting the well-filled lozerige-boxes as they layUpon the counter, stole one, and then stole away,       He thought unseen;—But 'twas not so—the shopman's eyeHad glanced upon him timorously,Quick as a shot from shovel ranClose at his heels, the druggist's man,       Who soon did catch him."When taken (doctors say) to be well shaken,"And just so fared our rogue. Yet not forsakenBy impudence, or tricks, to save his bacon       (There few could match him)He cleared his throat, and then, to clear his honour,Spoke thus: "Hold, hold! I'll not be put upon, norAbused for placing on your words too much reliance;You said 'steal lozenges'—I did so, in compliance;And, as I took them from the counter, itWas no real taking, but a counter-feat!"
This pleading proved the rogue no fool,And quite sufficed to over-ruleThe shopman's anger—who, like many a one,Urged to a length, forgave the mischief done,And with a caution half patheticalDismissed his rogueship, lozenges and all;And even, lest his stingy master should. I,Whine at the knave's bad action, made it good.

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