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HOP-PICKING.
MARY.
OH the heart I used to have,
Innocent and meek !
Some one stole it suddenly,
Kissed it from my cheek.
Now the pride of bitterness
Will not let me speak.
ROBIN.
There she sits, the idle thing,
Careless as a queen !
Fairer, in good sooth, than all
Queens that I have seen ;
Queen of all the garden, she
Knows it well, I ween.
