WHEN you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
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Our King went forth on pilgrimage
His prayers and vows to pay
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Not in the thick of the fight,
Not in the press of the odds,
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Ere Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry,
Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer,
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This fell when dinner-time was done --
'Twixt the first an' the second rub --
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The eldest son bestrides him,
And the pretty daughter rides him,
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Men make them fires on the hearth
Each under his roof-tree,
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Too late, alas! the song
To remedy the wrong; --
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With them there rode a lustie Engineere
Wel skilled to handel everich waie her geere,
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Once a pair of savages found a stranded tree.
(One-piecee stick -pidgin -- two piecee man.
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When by the labor of my 'ands
I've 'elped to pack a transport tight
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So it hath fallen, as it was bound to fall,
We are not, nor we were not, heard at all.
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"They are fools who kiss and tell" --
Wisely has the poet sung
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A much-discerning Public hold
The Singer generally sings
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Who gives him the Bath?
"I," said the wet,
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With us there rade a Maister-Cook that came
From the Rochelle which is neere Angouleme.
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As watchers couched beneath a Bantine oak,
Hearing the dawn-wind stir,
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How do we know, by the bank-high river,
Where the mired and sulky oxen wait,
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At times when under cover I 'ave said,
To keep my spirits up an' raise a laugh,
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Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are loose --
Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain;
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When the grey geese heard the Fool's tread
Too near to where they lay,
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After His Realms and States were moved To bare their hearts to the King they loved,
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Not in the camp his victory lies
Or triumph in the market-place,
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Brethren, how shall it fare with me
When the war is laid aside,
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The overfaithful sword returns the user
His heart's desire at price of his heart's blood.
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I know not in Whose hands are laid
To empty upon earth
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Argument. -- The Indian Government being minded to discover the economic condition of their lands, sent a Committee to inquire into it; and saw that it was g
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After the sack of the City when Rome was sunk to a name,
In the years that the lights were darkened, or ever St. Wilfrid
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The People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the snow--
They beg for coffee and sugar; they go where the white men go.
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Man goes to Man! Cry the challenge through the Jungle!
He that was our Brother goes away.
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