| Twice a week the winter thorough |
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| Shot? so quick, so clean an ending? |
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| Oh fair enough are sky and plain |
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| If it chance your eye offend you |
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| The Street sounds to the soldiers' tread |
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| Bring, in this timeless grave to throw |
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| The Lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair |
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| The Carpenter's Son |
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| Say, lad, have you things to do? |
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| Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly |
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