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 R. PHILIPPS has gone—and he carries away with him
 * Much of my cash, and my hearty good-will;

To both he is welcome, and long may they stay with him—
 * Poor as he’s made me, I’ll cherish him still.

For when the wild spell of his melody bound me,
 * I marked not the flight of the gay, happy hours;

His music created a fairy-land round me;
 * Above it, was sunshine—below it, were flowers.

But ’tis folly to weep—we must cease to regret him;
 * Look about—you have many as brilliant a star:

There’s Barnes39 (you may laugh if you will), but just let him
 * Play Belino for once;—he’ll beat Philipps by far!

When he sings “Love’s Young Dream,” every heart will be beating,
 * The ladies shall wave their white kerchiefs in air;