[Verse 1] The Sessions House is humming, London's court of common sin, The Lord Mayor sits in velvet, Sheriff More ushers prisoners in, There's Smart, the man who's lost his purse, ten pounds in good coin spent, And Lifter in the dock — a pickpocket, famous by intent. [Chorus] A cutpurse is a thief who slices leather from your belt, A sheriff — called a shrieve — keeps order where the charges melt, Fond just means foolish, the sessions mean the court's in session, Learn the old words now, and walk through More's own lesson. [Verse 2] Suresby rises, puffed with judgment, wagging one scolding glove: "What makes so many pilferers and felons, But such fond baits that foolish people lay To tempt the needy miserable wretch?" He says the rich man's coin is bait, and bait deserves the blame — As if the purse, not the thief's hand, should carry all the shame. [Chorus] A cutpurse is a thief who slices leather from your belt, A sheriff — called a shrieve — keeps order where the charges melt, Fond just means foolish, the sessions mean the court's in session, Learn the old words now, and walk through More's own lesson. [Verse 3] More leans and whispers something quiet in the Lord Mayor's ear, Then pulls the prisoner Lifter close where no one else can hear: "Just a merry jest," he murmurs, "pick the judge's purse for me, Do it clean, and I will shield you — trust my sureship, you'll go free." [Verse 4] So Lifter calls Suresby over, voice as smooth as oiled thread, Shows him how a cutpurse's arms wrap gentle round the head — A show of legerdemain, that sleight of hand so deftly spun, The judge feels nothing but a hug — and just like that, it's done. [Verse 5] Back on the bench, Suresby pats his belt and finds it bare, More simply smiles and gives the pompous lecture back right there, His own fine words on fond temptation, served up word for word, Then hands the purse back, calm as ever — lesson clearly heard. [Bridge] Lifter's guilty, sentence looming, but More won't let it stand — "Then build upon my word, I'll save thy life," he gives his hand. Not a sermon, just a pocket lighter than it was before, Mercy wrapped in mischief — that's the method of Thomas More. [Outro] Suresby blinks, half-laughing, caught by his own moralizing speech: "Well, Master More, you are a merry man" — the judge learns what he'd teach. Cutpurse, sheriff, fond, and sessions — now you hold the key, A joke that taught a judge more mercy than his sermon ever could be. [Chorus] A cutpurse is a thief who slices leather from your belt, A sheriff — called a shrieve — keeps order where the charges melt, Fond just means foolish, the sessions mean the court's in session, Learn the old words now, and walk through More's own lesson.
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