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HERE was one a-riding grand On a tall brown mare, And a fine gold band He brought me there.

A little, gold band He held to me That would shine on a hand For the world to see.

There was one a-walking swift To a little, new song, And a rose was the gift He carried along.

First of all the posies, Dewy and red. They that have roses Never need bread.

There was one with a swagger And a soft, slow tongue, And a bright, cold dagger Where his left hand swung—

Carven and gilt, Old and bad— And his stroking of the hilt Set a girl mad.