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22 |
The Song Book |
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XIX |
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JOG ON, JOG ON |
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day; Your sad tires in a mile - a.
Your paltry money-bags of gold,
What need have we to stare for, When little or nothing soon is told.
And we have the less to care for.
Cast away care, let sorrow cease,
A fig for melancholy : Let's laugh and sing, or, if you please,
We'll frolic with sweet Dolly.
Chappell. Words from The Antidote against Melancholy. |
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