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Here, alonė, before thine eyes, .
Look but at the gardener's pride,
Thus then, each to other dear, Let them all in quiet lie, Andrew there and Susan here, Neighbours in mortality.
And should I live through sun and rain
I hate that Andrew Jones : he'll breed
I said not this, because he loves
For this poor crawling helpless wretch
Inch-thick the dust lay on the ground
It chanc'd that Andrew pass’d that way Just at the time; and there he found The Cripple in the mid-day heat Standing alone, and at his feet . He saw the pemy on the ground.
He stopp'd and took the penny up :
And bence I said, that Andrew's boys Will all be train'd to waste and pillage; And wish'd the press-gang, or the drum With its tantara sound, would come And sweep him from the village!