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 He decks his form with pleasing art,

And hides the daggers in his heart.

The music of his martial band,

The shining halberd in his hand,

The feather’d helmet on his head,

And coat so fine of flaming red—

With these the simple youth he gains,

And tempts him from his peaceful plains;

And by this pomp was William led

The dang’rous paths of war to tread.

Fair sounding words my love deceiv’d :

The great ones talk’d, and he believ’d,

That war would fame and treasure bring,

That glory call’d to serve the King.

But wise men say, and sure 'tis true,

That war is theft, and murder too ;

But had my William thought it so,

He had not gone to fight the foe.

How blest, could Anna see him now,

With shoulders bending o’er the plough,