An excellent new Medley. To the tune of the Spanish Pavin:
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WHen Philomel begins to sing,
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the grasse growes greene & flowres spring,
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Me thinks it is a pleasant thing,
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to walke on Primrose hill,
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Maydes have you any Conny-skins
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To sell for Laces or great Pinnes?
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The Pope will pardon ventail sinnes:
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Saint Peter.
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Fresh fish & newes grow quickly stale:
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Some say good Wine can nere want sale,
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But God send poore folkes Beere and Ale
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enough untill they die.
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Most people now are full of pride;
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The Boy sayd no but yet he lyde:
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His Aunt did to the Cuck-stoole ride
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for scolding.
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Within our Towne faire Susan dwells:
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Sure Meg is poyson'd, for she swels,
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My friend, pull off your buzzards bels,
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and let the haggard flye.
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Take heed you play not at Tray-trip.
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Short heeles forsooth will quickly slip.
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The beadle makes folke with his whip,
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dance naked.
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Come Tapster tell us whats to pay,
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Jane frownd and cryde good Sir away,
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She tooke his kindnesse, yet sayd nay,
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as Maydens use to doe.
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The man shall have his Mare ageen,
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When all false knaves prove honest men,
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Our Cisly shall be Sainted then,
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true Roger.
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The Butcher with his masty Dog,
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At Rumford you may buy a Hog,
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I faith Raph Goose hath got a clog,
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his wench is great with childe:
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In Pillory put the Bakers head,
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For making of such little bread,
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Good conscience now a dayes is dead,
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Pierce plowman.
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The Cutpurse and his Company
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Theeves finde receivers presently:
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Shun Brokers, Bawdes, and Usury,
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for feare of after-claps.
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Lord, what a wicked world is this?
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The stone lets Kate she cannot pisse?
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Come hither sweet and take a kisse
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in kindnesse.
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In Bath a wanton wife did dwell,
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She had two buckets to a well,
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Would not a dog for anger swell,
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to see a Pudding creepe?
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The Horse-leach is become a Smith
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When halters fayle, then take a With:
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They say an old man hath no pith,
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Round Robin.
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Simon doth sucke up all the Egges,
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Franke never drinkes without Nutmegs,
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And pretty Parnell shewes her legs,
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as slender as my waste.
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When faire Jerusalem did stand,
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The match is made give me thy hand.
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Maulkin must have a Cambricke band
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blew starched.
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The Cuckow sung hard by the doore,
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Gyll brawled like a butter whore,
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Cause her bucke-headed Husband swore
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the Miller was a knave.
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Good Poets leave off making playes
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Let players seeke for Souldiers payes
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I doe not like these drunken frayes,
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in Smithfield.
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Now Roysters spurs doe gingle brave,
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John Sexton playd the arrand knave,
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To digge a Coarse out of the Grave,
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and steal the sheet away.
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The wandring Prince of stately Troy,
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Greene sleeves were wont to be my joy,
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He is a blinde and paultry boy
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god Cupid.
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Come hither friends and give good care,
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A legge of mutton stuft is rare.
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Take heed you doe not steale my Mare,
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it is so hot it burnes.
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Behold the tryall of true love,
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He tooke a scrich-Owle for a Dove:
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This man is like ere long to prove
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a Monster.
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Tis merry when kind Maltmen meet:
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No Cowards fight but in the street,
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Me thinkes this wench smels very sweet,
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of Muske, or somewhat else.
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There was a man did play at Maw,
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The whilst his wife made him a Daw,
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Your Case is altered in the Law,
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quoth Ployden.
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The Weaver will no shuttle shoote,
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Goe bid the Cobler mend my boote
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He is a foole will goe a foote
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and let his Horse stand still.
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Old John a Nokes and John a Stiles,
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Many an honest man beguiles.
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But all the world is full of wiles
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and knavery.
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Of treason and of Traytors spight
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The house is haunted with a sprit,
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Now Nan will rise about midnight,
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and walke to Richards house.
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You Courtly states and Gallants all,
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Climbe not too high, for feare you fall:
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If one please not, another shall,
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King Pippin.
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Diana and her Darlings deere,
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The Dutchmen ply the double Beere:
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Boyes ring the bels and make good cheere,
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when Kempe returnes from Rome.
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Oh man what meanes thy heavy looke?
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Is Will not in his Mistris Booke,
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Sir Rouland for a refuge tooke
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Horne. Castle.
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Rich people have the world at will
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Trades fade, but Lawyers flourish still,
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Jacke would be marryed unto Gyll:
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but care will kill a Cat.
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Are you there Sirrah with your Beares?
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A Barbers shop with nitty haires.
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Doll, Phillis hath lost both her eares,
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for coozning.
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Who list to lead a Souldiers life?
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Tom would eate meat, but wants a knife,
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The Tinker swore that Tib his wife,
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would play at Uptayles all
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Beleeve my word without an Oath
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The Taylor stole some of her cloath:
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When George lay sicke, Joane made him broath
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with Hemlocke.
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The Patron gelt the parsonage,
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And Esau sold his heritage,
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Now Leonard lacke-wit is foole age
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to be his Fathers heire.
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There's many scratch before it itch,
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Saul did aske counsell of a Witch,
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Friend, yee many have a Bacen flitch
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at Dunmow.
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King David playd on a Welch Harpe,
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This threed will never make good warpe
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At wise mens words each foole will carpe
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and shoote their witlesse bolts.
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Jove like a Ram wore hornes and wooll.
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Knew you my Hostis of the Bull,
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Spruce Curio once was made a gull
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in Shoreditch.
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The blackamores are blabber lipt,
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At Yarmouth are the Herrings shipt,
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And at Bride-well the beggers whipt,
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a man may live and learne,
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Griefe in my heart doth stop my tongue,
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The poore man still must put up wrong,
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Your way lyes there, then walke along
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to Witham.
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There lyes a Lasse that I love well
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The Broker hath gay clothes to sell,
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Which from the Hangmans but yet fell
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are you no further yet?
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In Summer time when Peares be ripe
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Who would give sixe pence for a Trip[e]
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Play Lad, or else lend me thy Pipe
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and Taber.
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Saint Nicholas Clarkes will take a pu[rse]
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Young children now can sweare and cu[rse]
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I hope yee like me nere the worse,
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for finding fault therewith.
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The servant is the Masters mate.
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When gossips meet, there's too much pr[ate]
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Poore Lazarus lyes on Dives gate
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haste starved.
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Make hast to Sea, and hoyst up sayles
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The hogs were serv'd with milking pa[yles]
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From filthy flats, and from all Jayles,
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good Lord deliver us all.
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I scorne to ride a raw bon'd Jade,
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Fetch me a Mattocke and a Spade,
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A Graves end Toste will soone be made
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Saint Dennis.
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But for to finish up my Song,
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The Ale-wife did the Brewer wrong
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One day of sorrow seemes as long
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as ten dayes doe in mirth,
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My Medly now is at an end,
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Have you no Bowles or Trayes to m[end]
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Tis hard to finde so true a friend
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as Damon.
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