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Weaving rugs to please a rich man Weaving luck for me, Rich man, poor man, Waiting for a rug to finish Fortunes to compare! White's for luck in red Bokhara, Red of warp and woof to wear. White to sign a compact with the Devil Shunting off all evil From my son. Red of thread to savour him White to spare— Pearls to play with And to ask a prayer— Sleep my son in God's securest silence. Thy father'll not have done The red Bokhara 'Til the spring and thou Are come.