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was very far off, and a long time ago,
 * (So perhaps all the story's not true,)

That there once lived a rustic called Billy the Beau, Who would, "whether his mammy would let him or no,
 * Go a-wooing" a maiden called Sue.

And Sue was a damsel right pleasant to see,
 * When her rosy face beam'd with a smile,

As she join'd in the dance, or tripp'd light o'er the lea, Or sat down to whatever folks then took for tea,
 * With odd gossip the time to beguile.

Yet they said that, besides her true lover Beau Bill,
 * She'd already a will of her own;

That's to say, she'd a spirit that sometimes lay still, But, when roused, the small cottage with uproar, would fill,
 * And that then she was best let alone.

Be all that as it might, she'd of lovers no lack,
 * Which much annoy'd Billy the Beau;

For some were coarse fellows, who had a sad knack At rough practical jokes, such as thumping his back,
 * Or of treading, perchance, on his toe.

And the tall ones would boast of their strength, and look down,
 * For Bill was no giant in height,

And then offer to wrestle or jump for a crown; So though oft, in Sue's presence, he ventured a frown,
 * He more often went home in a fright.

Still he felt that his heart was as big as the best,
 * Though his body was not made to match;

So he fretted and lost many hours of his rest,. And went forth one fine morning, with languor opprest,
 * Yawning wide as he lifted the latch.

Dull and heavily on then he saunter'd, as though
 * He'd no duty on earth to fulfil,

Till suddenly some one exclaim'd, "Hip! hallo! What! is that moping figure young Billy the Beau?"
 * Then he started, look'd round, and stood still.

But no one could he see, and of course thought it queer
 * That a voice without body should speak;

So he called out, "Who's that?" and the voice said, "I'm here, Just behind the grey stone; so, come on, never fear,
 * I suppose I'm the person you seek."

Then Billy, who'd wander'd unconsciously there,
 * Recollected that stone mark'd the spot

Where queer goblins and elfins were said to repair, And old witches convene to fly up in the air,
 * With their broomsticks, black broth, and what not.