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GEORGE BARNWELL. |
219 |
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" What ails my heart's delight,
My Sarah dear ? " quoth I; " Let not my love lament and grieve,
Nor sighing pine and die.
" But tell me, dearest friend, i«
What may thy woes amend, And thou shalt lack no means of help,
Though forty pound I spend."
With that she turn'd her head,
And sickly thus did say: iso
" Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great;
Ten pound I have to pay
Unto a cruel wretch;
And God he knows," quoth she, " I have it not." " Tush, rise," I said, i«s
" And take it here of me.
" Ten pounds, nor ten times ten,
Shall make my love decay;" Then from my bag into her lap,
I cast ten pound straightway. ia>
All blithe and pleasant then,
To banqueting we go; She proffered me to lye with her, m
And said it should be so.
And after that same time,
I gave her store of coyn, Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once ;
All which I did purloyn. |
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