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The ball o'erfliot die goal, the dufl rofe all about. 

 Like a fool in a mill, he looked in amazement ; 

 Then ftalked and wondered, with Oh ! and with grief 

 Our joys are all fmothered in a pifmire hill. 



Hey-ho ! by my confcience, you have paid it, quoth John, 

 Give o'er your crofsnefs, and give me your hand. 

 He that knows what to fay, mifchief fetch the man. 

 Betwixt you and Tommy and the pifmire hill. 



Come with us, gofTip Larry, yourfelf and Miles ; 

 Out of my hand I'll not part with Walter. 

 Joan fet them a laughing, fhe pleafed them all, how — 

 She gave them fome to do, as we are doing now : \_DrinH)/^.] 

 So blefs all our friends, and God fpeed the plough. 



(Ra) 



