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THE TRUE MAID OF THE SOUTH.
Then little Cupid, God of Love,
Began to play his part; And on the sudden from above He shot his golden dart; Which did constraine These lovers twaine To prize each other deare : Sweet Margery Lov'd Anthony, The pride of Lester-shire.
Thus with concordant sympathy
These lovers were combin'd, One lov'd the other heartily, Yet neither told their mind : She long'd to speake, Her minde to breake Unto her lover deare, She durst not tell, Though she lov'd well The pride of Lester-shire.
Within short time it came to passe
To sea the young man went, And left this young and pretty lasse In woe and discontent: Who wept full sore, And griev'd therefore, When truly she did heare That her sweet-heart From her must part, The pride of Lester-shire. |
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