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On yon fair brook's enamell'd side, |
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Awake, my boys—awake, arise ! |
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Mark well the various seasons of the year. |
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On thy banks, limpid Thames, as I stand, |
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My lover he lives by the pure river side, On Tweed's fair banks a castle stands, |
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No more the angler's silent trade I ply, |
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O! Mary, look, how sweetly Spring |
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When smiling felicity warbles her song, |
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We're all a-fishing, fish, fish, fishing, |
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Of all the recreations which, |
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Oh, the days when we went an angling, |
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No fairer land can meet the eye, |
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But I'll tak' leave o' queenly Dee, |
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I winna sing o' war nor wine, |
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Come, anglers, come, for work prepare, |
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Now the finny brood united, |
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It's late, my lad, to tak' the gad, |
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Anxious, by the gliding stream, |
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As late by the Thames's verdant side, |
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O bold singing spirit of Loch Neagh's lovely vale |
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Up, angler, up, and be off to the river, |
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Bright blaz'd the fire of crackling wood, |
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When atop the hoary western hill, |
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To you who love the lonely shade, |
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Who has not, if he's fond of whim, |
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With feelings strange and undefined, |
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The Rhine, the Rhine, thou noble stream, |
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