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SONG
O WOE is me, my heart is sad,
For I should never know
If Love came by like any lad,
Without his silver bow.
Or if he left his arrows sharp
And came a minstrel weary,
I'd never tell him by his harp
Nor know him for my dearie.
"O go your ways and have no fear,
For tho' Love passes by,
He'll come a hundred times, my dear,
Before your turn to die."
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