The LADYs Garland.
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A Virtuous young lady ingenious and fair,
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A noblemans daughter, whose name I forbear
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To mention, but now I will speak in brief,
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The sum of her trouble, her sorrow and grief.
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And how she was suddenly struck with a dart,
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Which passd thro her breast, to her innocent heart,
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So that it obligd her to make grievous moan,
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When set in her chamber or closet alone.
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The man whom she fancied, nothing did know,
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How this youthful lady admird him so;
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And so her grief was the stronger we find,
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Because she could not discover her mind.
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For being one night at a dancing or ball,
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She saw this young gentleman proper and tall;
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Whose gallant deportment so pleased her eye,
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As she thought none did his person out vie.
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The more she endeavour[]d her love to withdraw,
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The more she was wounded, perfection she saw
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In him, as he danc[]d with the ladies that night,
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Her soul to his breast took a passionate flight
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Now when they had ended this comical mirth,
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She privately asked concerning his birth.
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It was told her an Oxfordshire gentlemans son,
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Who many a brave noble action had done.
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This added a second new flame to her love,
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She earnestly beggd of the powers above,
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To find out a way it might be reveald,
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For said she, I die, if tis longer conceald.
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By excellent fortune she had her request,
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For this noble gallant above all the rest,
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Did wait on her home, where to tell in brief,
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From sighs he discoverd the cause of her grief.
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He found by her sighs and languishing eyes,
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That he was the man she did value and prize:
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Wherefore he did promise to come the next day,
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That he to her beauty a visit might pay.
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According to promise next morning he came,
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For true love had kindled an amorous flame
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Of earnest desire; he courted her still,
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And soon he obtained the ladys good-will.
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Now his whole study was how to convey
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This amorous charming young lady away;
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To finish the joys which so sudden begun,
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Who gains a fair lady, great hazards must run.
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They walkd in the garden under the trees,
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She shewd him how he might come with ease.
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Said she I can meet you when all are at rest,
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And with thee Ill go, as I hope to be blest.
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No one but my waiting-maid of it shall know,
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I love her, and therefore she with me shall go.
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With many soft kisses these lovers agreed,
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In this great adventure that night to proceed.
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The long wishd for hour at last did arrive,
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The m[a]id and the lady both did contrive
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To p[a]ck up her garments so rich and so gay;
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And so with her lover she posted away.
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They up to the city of London did ride,
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Where all things convenient he soon did provide,
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For wedding this lady of fame and renown
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Which done, they tarried three weeks in the town.
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To solace themselves in raptures of bliss.
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The mean time her honoured parents did miss
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Her, and sent man and horse both far and near.
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But they of their daughter no tydings did hear.
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Her parents, friends and relations likewise
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Believd she was taken by sudden surprize,
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To wed her, and bed her at some idle rate,
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Thereby to inherit her fathers estate.
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Some said, this must be with her consent;
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Because that with her the waiting-maid went.
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With that, said her father, in passion and wrath,
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If with her consent, I will punish them both.
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The family was in distraction we find,
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Her father and mother disturbed in mind;
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Her father and mother did bitterly mourn,
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And wishd for this beautiful ladys return.
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When here in this city sometime thsy had stayd,
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The lady unto her husband thus said,
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Well try if my father will be reconcild,
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Perhaps they may pardon their innocent child.
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He gave his consent, and posted away,
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And came to her father and mother, when they
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Were fitting together with friends in the hall.
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For pardon then both on their knees they did call.
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The father did storm with an angry brow,
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Ill grant you no pardon, but here I do vow,
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Ill send him to prison, and you will confine,
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Ill teach him to marry a daughter of mine.
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Dear honoured father, the lady replyd,
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My husband you have but small reason to chide,
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What faults are committed, impute them to me,
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And let my dear innocent husband go free.
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Are you, forsooth, madam, so able to bear
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The weight of my anger? well, well, I declare
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You shall have one share, and he have the rest.
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No manner of pity Ill show I protest.
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Her lilly-white hands she with sorrow did wring,
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Still crying, ye powers, why did you bring
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My innocent husband to ruin and shame.
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When none in the world, but me was to blame.
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It is but a folly your fate to bewail,
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This minute Ill send him strong guarded to goal;
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And you to your chamber, where both shall remain,
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And never shall see one another again.
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Why are you resolved to part man and wife?
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Alas! I as freely can part with my life;
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As to part with my jewel, my love let me have,
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Altho in a prison, a dungeon, or cave.
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She could not oblige them the least to relent,
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For strait to a prison her dear love was sent.
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And she to her chamber was hurryd likewise,
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To put forth her sorrow with watry eyes.
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Her parents appointed a servant to wait
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Upon her, with diet both early and late.
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One that wat ill naturd, no other was she,
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Poor creature, admitted or sufferd to see.
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To think of her jewel no rest could she take,
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But still in her chamber she wep[t] for his sake,
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For to think on his, and her sorrowful doom,
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At length an infant did spring in her womb.
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With melting expressions of her great grief,
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She [w]ent to her father for speedy relief,
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Declaring tha[t] she was wi[t]h child by her dear,
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But still he continued sharp and severe
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A length when the time of her travel drew nigh,
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Her parents afforded a slender supply,
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Of nourishment just in the time of distress
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But there was no freedom for her neertheless.
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Then being delivered of a young son.
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Her parents sent for it. Their will must be done.
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She kissd it at parting a thousand times oer,
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And said with a sigh, I shall see thee no more.
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They sent for a nurse, who the child did receive,
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And made the charming creature believe,
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By tokens and signs it was murtherd indeed,
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To show they would have no more of the breed.
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They brought back the mantle spotted with blood,
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And put before her, her eyes with a flood
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Of tears like a fountain, did run down amain,
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She said, my innocent infant is slain.
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The father in prison, the infant destroyd,
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The mother in sorrow, who never enjoyd
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One minute of comfort, since I returnd home,
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Oh! why are my parents so highly concernd?
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What can be the reason they hold him in scorn?
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Hes handsome, discreet, and a gentleman born;
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Strait, comely, and proper in every limb,
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My heart in my body, lies bleeding for him.
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He nothing enjoys for my sake, but his chains:
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For still in a prison of grief he remains;
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Because he did wed with a noble degree.
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I weep when I think what he suffers for me.
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While she in her chamber did weep and lament,
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Her father one morning a messenger sent,
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To bring her before him, without more delay,
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Cloathed in apparel most costly and gay.
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Now when to her honoured father she came,
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S[a]id he, I have found out a person of fame,
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With whom you shall wed; hell make you his bride,
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Oh! do not afflict me, dear father, she cryd.
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Im marryd already, the more is my grief;
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Debarrd of all pleasure, denyd of relief;
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Imprisond and slighted with scorn and disdain;
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No lady had ever such cause to complain.
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You said, I dishonoured your family;
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By wedding a man that was meaner than me.
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But it would be worse, if I should contrive
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To marry another while he is alive.
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But was you to bring me the greatest on earth,
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The son of a powerful monarch by birth.
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Id mind him no more than any mean slave;
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The dearest of husbands in prison I have
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Dear daughter, this day well admit you to dine,
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With all our relations. A banquet of wine
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I now have provided to pleasure my friends.
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Thats but a small kindness to make me amends,
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For all the sorrow that I have gone through;
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Alas! my poor innocent infant they slew;
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My husbands imprisond, my griefs manifold:
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How can I be merry, when he is in hold?
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These words of his daughter made him to relent,
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Therefore for her husband he presently sent:
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And cloathed him then in sumptuous array,
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And every fault was forgiven that day.
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Her parents and friends were all reconcild.
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The nurse too was there, and deliverd the child
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Unto the young lady, whose comforts were more,
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Than had been for the space of twelvemonths before.
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Her husband appeard with so noble a grace,
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That every lady that was in the place
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Did take much delight to speak in his praise,
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And wishd them to live to see prosperous days.
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A Squire spoke up with an audible voice,
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And said to her father, Neer grieve at the choice.
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For he is decended, as we understand,
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By kis mothers side, from a peer of the land.
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Nay, much more he said to his honour and fame,
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Her friends were well pleased, thro joy they proclaim
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To set forth their glory, which still doth abound
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Throughout all the neighbouring villages round.
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