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162 (Too 'ard, an' a little too soon),

I'll 'ave to think over it first—

Me!

I will arise an' get 'ence;—

I will trek South and make sure

If it's only my fancy or not

That the sunshine of England is pale,

And the breezes of England are stale,

An' there's somethin' gone small with the lot;

For I know of a sun an' a wind,

An' some plains and a mountain be'ind,

An' some graves by a barb-wire fence;

An' a Dutchman I've fought 'oo might give

Me a job were I ever inclined,

To look in an' offsaddle an' live

Where there's neither a road nor a tree—

But only my Maker an' me,

An' I think it will kill me or cure,

So I think I will go there an' see.