When‘ Omer smote‘ is bloomin’ lyre,
He'd‘ eard men sing by land an’ sea;
An’ what he thought‘ e might require,
‘ E went an’ took — the same as me!
The market-girls an’ fishermen,
The shepherds an’ the sailors, too,
They‘ eard old songs turn up again,
But kep’ it quiet — same as you!
They knew‘ e stole;‘ e knew they knowed.
They did n't tell, nor make a fuss,
But winked at‘ Omer down the road,
An’‘ e winked back — the same as us!