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.
My mule so bonny I bestrode,
To Portugal I'd flee,
And as I o'er the water rode
A man came suddenly;
And he his love and kindness show'd
By setting his dog on me.
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