For your own sakes, instruct him when he's out,
You'll find him mend his work at every bout.
}
When some young lusty thief is passing by, }
How many of your tender kind will cry,— }
"A proper fellow! pity he should die! }
He might be saved, and thank us for our pains,
There's such a stock of love within his veins."
These arguments the women may persuade,
But move not you, the brothers of the trade,