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The sons of the tillage Who dwell in this village Are people of lowly degree—degree. Though honest and active, They're most unattractive, And awkward as awkward can be—can be.

They're clumsy clodhoppers With axes and choppers, And shepherds and ploughmen And drovers and cowmen, And hedgers and reapers And carters and keepers, But never a lover for me!

They're clumsy clodhoppers, etc.

So welcome, gentry

Enter

Oh, why am I moody and sad? Can't guess! And why am I guiltily mad? Confess! Because I am thoroughly bad! Oh yes— You'll see it at once in my face. Oh, why am I husky and hoarse? Ah, why? It's the workings of conscience, of course. Fie, fie! And huskiness stands for remorse, Oh my! At least it does so in my case!