Unto a refuge me they led, To save from dungeon drear; Then sighing to my wife I said, I leave my baby dear. Back from the refuge soon I sped, My child’s sweet face to see; Then sternly to my wife I said, You’ve seen the last of me. O when I sit my courser bold, My bantling in my rear, And in my hand my musket hold, O how they quake with fear. Pray, little baby, pray the Lord, Since guiltless still thou art, That peace and comfort he afford To this poor troubled heart. The false Juanito, day and night, Had best with caution go, The Gypsy carles of Yeira height Have sworn to lay him low. There runs a swine down yonder hill, As fast as e’er he can, And as he runs he crieth still, Come, steal me, Gypsy man. I wash’d not in the limpid flood The shirt which binds my frame; But in Juanito Ralli’s blood I bravely wash’d the same. I sallied forth upon my grey, With him my hated foe, And when we reach’d the narrow way I dealt a dagger blow. To blessed Jesus’ holy feet I’d rush to kill and slay My plighted lass so fair and sweet, Should she the wanton play. I for a cup of water cried, But they refus’d my prayer, Then straight into the road I hied, And fell to robbing there. I ask’d for fire to warm my frame, But they’d have scorn’d my prayer, If I, to pay them for the same, Had stripp’d my body bare. Then came adown the village street, With little babes that cry, Because they have no crust to eat, A Gypsy company; And as no charity they meet, They curse the Lord on high. I left my house and walk’d about, They seized me fast and bound; It is a Gypsy thief, they shout, The Spaniards here have found. From out the prison me they led, Before the scribe they brought; It is no Gypsy thief, he said, The Spaniards here have caught. Throughout the night, the dusky night, I prowl in silence round, And with my eyes look left and right, For him, the Spanish hound, That with my knife I him may smite, And to the vitals wound. Will no one to the sister bear News of her brother’s plight, How in this cell of dark despair, To cruel death he’s dight? The Lord, as e’en the Gentiles state, By Egypt’s race was bred, And when he came to man’s estate, His blood the Gentiles shed. O never with the Gentiles wend, Nor deem their speeches true; Or else, be certain in the end Thy blood will lose its hue. From out the prison me they bore, Upon an ass they placed, And scourg’d me till I dripp’d with gore, As down the road it paced. They bore me from the prison nook, They bade me rove at large; When out I’d come a gun I took, And scathed them with its charge.