With the conscience of one, who believes he has done, What was really the best, for himself, He retired into bed, that night, and he fell Fast asleep, like a saint on a shelf. It might have been a very short period of time, Or maybe it might have been long, When he woke with a buzz like a bee in his ear, Or the purr of a tom cat's song. It might be the bizz of a wasp, or the hum, Of a foraging blue bottle fly, But no! 'twas the sound of the whizz of a drill! 'Twas then that he opened his eye. He jumped up in bed, and he cried with an oath, "What's that, that you're doing, you scamp?" To a burglar brave, who was sampling his room, With a bag, jemmy, brace, and a lamp. Then the burglar grinned in an amicable way, For a diplomatic cracker was he, And he wouldn't take offence at the oath of a man, Who had only awoke, said he, "I was down at the meetin' an' heerd every word, When you gave out the socialist pay, An' I am a bloke wot swears by the truth Of the beautiful words that you say. That's whoy I am here, for my slice of the swag, That you've pinched, by employin' your men. I'm tottin' up the stock, in a confidential way, For an equal division of it then, For mate, I'm a pal of a Socialistic turn, Wot tries to do everythink straight, We'll halve them between us, the jewels and coin, An' make an even deal of the plate." [Illustration] But out from the bed, with a jump in his shirt, The candidate sprang to the floor, Said he, "I may preach, but to practice is bosh!" And leaped with a shout to the door. But the cracker of cribs, with a colt in his fist, Was first, and with that at the nose Of the candidate, muttered "You'll die of the cold, If you don't burrow under the clothes! "So don't make a row," said that burglar brave, "But jerk into bed out of sight, I hate to be put upon when I'm at work, An' Boss, this is my busy night! "Now jest let me fasten a gag on yer mouth, You know that it's wrong, to alarm Your neighbours at night, when they're wantin' to sleep, Quick! into this noose with each arm, There! now, with that beautiful knot on your pins, You cawn't say as how yer to blame, If I pinch all I can in the regular way, Of the grabber's contemptible game!"