I care not now whom I may chance to meet
In Chancery Lane or Carey Street;
Gentile or Jew, or neither, or what not,
The bailiff's occupation's gone to pot,
And all their sport, thank common sense, is over;
Unless you find a man to swear,
That he heard another man declare,
That as he was walking the streets one day,
He met with Jones, who was heard to say,
That Smith intended to run away,