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Rh [pulls out a paper] the hate in which it was written. I heard the news in the fields—always have paper and a pencil about me, and compoed the whole forty lines croing the meadows and the park in my way home, [reads.]

Oh Mue, acend the forked mount, &emsp;And lofty trains prepare, About a Baron and a Count, &emsp;Who went to hunt the hare.

The hare he ran with utmot peed, &emsp;And ad, and anxious looks, Becaue the furious hounds indeed, &emsp;Were near to her, gadzooks.

At length, the Count and Baron bold &emsp;Their footteps homeward bended; For why, becaue, as you were told, &emsp;The hunting it was ended.

Before them trait a youth appears, &emsp;Who made a piteous pother, And told a tale with many tears, &emsp;About his dying mother.

The youth was in evere ditrefs, &emsp;And eem’d as he had ptnt all, He look’d a oldier by his dres; &emsp;For that was regimental.

The Baron’s heart was full of ruth, &emsp;While from his eye fell brine o! And oon he gave the mournful youth &emsp;A little ready rino.

He gave a hilling as I live, &emsp;Which, ure, was mighty well; But