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Rh ’Tis little I have got to boast: But should you of our cottage tell, Say, Hal the Woodman was your host.

Fair Ellen like lily grew, Was beauty’s fav’rite flow’r Till falsehood chang’d her lovely , She wither’d in an hour.

Antonio, in her virgin breast, First raised a tender sigh; His wish obtain’d, the lover blest, Then left the maid to die.