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LONG LONKIN. 315
Still she did prick it,
And bee-ba she cried; " Come down, dearest mistress, 45
And still your own child."
" O still my child, Orange,
Still him with a bell;" " I can't still him, ladie,
Till you come down yoursell." so
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" Hold the gold basin, For your heart's blood to run in,"
****** ****** " To hold the gold basin,
It grieves me fuE sore ; Oh kill me, dear Lonkin, m
And let my mother go." |
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