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(166) Page 154 - Amyntor's welladay
154
Songs Conipleat,
AM YN TOR's Welladay.
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CHloris now thou art fled away,
Amyntor's sheep are gone astray ;
And all the joy he took to see,
His pretty Lambs run after thee,
Is gone, is gone, and he alone,
Sings nothing now but welladay (welladay).
His Oaten Pipe that in thy praise,
Was wont to play such round delays :
Is thrown away, and not a Swain,
Dares pipe, or sing, within his plain ;
'Tis death for any one to say,
One word to him, but welladay.
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