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Good gentlemen, good gentlemen, we crave your kind attention!
 * Here's Summer, at your service (till you bid the lady stop);

Good gentlemen, she's songs for you—'tis time to drop dissension;
 * 'Tis time to cut the cackle and to close awhile the shop;

For stags shall be in Badenoch, and Kent hath twined the hop.

Yes, songs for every son o' you, and all have silver linings!
 * Good gentlemen, good gentlemen, it's close, your London air;

If I'm mixing up the proverbs, 'tis because my reads run shining
 * Through the fret of far-off pine-woods, and I'm wishful to be there;

Or at hand among the hop-poles when the vines are trailing fair.

Good gentlemen, the prologue! Here's programme most attractive:
 * She's songs for everyone o' you—oh, rare the tunes and rich!

Here's hackneyed Devon Harbours (but the pollock's biting active);
 * Here's Evening (rise in Hampshire); here's The Roller on the Pitch;

And music in the lot o' them—it doesn't matter which.

We've long White Roads o' Brittany and pretty Wayside Posies,
 * Blue Bays (beneath the undercliff—the white sails crawling by);

We've Rabbits in a Hedgerow (how the bustling Clumber noses);
 * We've Grouse Across the Valley (crashing crumpled from the sky);

And magics in each note of her—it doesn't matter why.

Here's Salmon Songs and Shrimping Songs, according to your pocket;
 * Here's Hopping (with a lurcher—twice as useful as a gun

For the fat young August pheasants that'll never live to rocket);
 * Here's a jolly Song o' Golf Balls; here's the tune of Cubs that Run;

We've something for each Jack o' you, for every mother's son.

Good gentlemen, good gentlemen, we crave your kind permission!
 * Here's Summer, at your service, and she'd sing you on your ways

The marching songs of morning and the Road that fits the Vision,
 * The mellow songs of twilight and the gold September haze;

God rest you all, good gentlemen, and send you pleasant days. 