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to the tune of "Time has not thinned my flowing hair."

Long Ned's Song.

I

Oh, if my hands adhere to cash,

⁠My gloves at least are clean,
And rarely have the gentry flash
⁠In sprucer clothes been seen.

II

Sweet Public, since your coffers must

⁠Afford our wants relief,
Oh! soothes it not to yield the dust
⁠To such a charming thief?

III

I never robbed a single coach

⁠But with a lover's air;
And though you might my course reproach,
⁠You never could my hair.

IV

John Bull, who loves a harmless joke,

⁠Is apt at me to grin,
But why be cross with laughing folk,
⁠Unless they laugh and win?

V

John Bull has money in his box;

⁠And though his wit's divine.
Yet let me laugh at Johnny's locks——
⁠And John may laugh at mine!