| Come, so the spirit's fragrance That I may retrace from that cheek |
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| Lo, by thy bright eye's magic, O happy-favoured fair |
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| Since that this boast I uttered, 'Tis forty years, in fine |
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| In thy footsteps' dust our faces Many a time and tide we've laid |
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| Up, skinker, and give me In hand the bowl! |
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| Though to the service of the King we bound are |
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| My heart of a gipsy-like charmer, A trickstress, is captive made |
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| The Festival day to-day is And I've for to-day forecast |
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| Virtue, piety, observance, Seek from drunken me not. Nay |
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| Chance to me, at dawn, of drinking Beakers twain of wine hath fallen |
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