A New Song. On Hounslow Heath as I rid o’er I spy’d a Lawyer just before, I asked him if he was not afraid Of TURPIN, that mischievous Blade. Sing, O rare Turpin, O rare Turpin, O. Says Turpin, I have been most cute,1 For my Money is hid within my Boot, Says the Lawyer, there is none can find For mine lies in my Cape behind. They rid till they came to the powder Mill,2 When Turpin bid the Lawyer to stand still, Stand, Sir, your Cape it must come off, For my Horse does want a Saddle Cloth. Sing, &c. He rob’d the Lawyer of all his Store, But he knows how to Lie for more,3 But if you my Case should Plead, Or ever I should stand in Need, A word or two you may put in, My Name is saucy DICK TURPIN.4 Sing, &c. At Epping they said they would kill Turpin that had never done them Ill, But he, more nimbler than they, Shot his Carbine, and Dead was he.5 Sing, &c. And now they say that they will hang Turpin, as they have done his Gang, But an Hundred Pounds whene’er I Die I’ll leave Jack Ketch for a Legacy.6 Sing, O rare Turpin, O rare Turpin, O.