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 * Strong they are as mills, or presses,
 * Lamb-like, gentle—free from vice,
 * At markets—oh, what pats, caresses!
 * And then the question—'What's their price?'
 * Men want to lead them to the king:
 * I pledge His Majesty in wine,
 * But sell them—that's a different thing!
 * I will not sell them,—they are mine.
 * Should I be forced to sell them out,
 * I'll hang myself, without a doubt;

I love my wife, and well my Jeanne I cherish, But let her die, before my favourites perish.


 * When our daughter shall have grown,
 * If the Prince desire her hand,
 * I shall give him all I own,
 * House and silver, goods and land;
 * But if for dowry he should pray
 * The oxen white and red,—good lack!
 * My daughter, throw that crown away,
 * Lead, lead the cattle homeward back!
 * Should I be forced to sell them out,
 * I'll hang myself, without a doubt;

I love my wife, and well my Jeanne I cherish, But let her die, before my favourites perish.