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tread, yet those we dread, Ne'er sleep, ne'er
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sleep on a bed of roses,
sleep on a bed of
sleep on a bed, a bed, a bed of ro - ses.
He wandered long on mountains wild,
Like hardy hunters living,
In humble cot, at grandeur smil'd,
Our father's hope reviving.
He fought till conquered by the foe,
Till by harsh law, on bed of straw,
Still heaven, he cries, disposes,
My sons behold, in honour bold,
I die, I die, on a bed of roses.
In the endeavour to make this Collection as perfect as possible, I
have not scrupled to avail myself of the most popular French Airs, so
in this and the accompanying- pages, 1 have been enabled, through
the kindness of a friend, to introduce a selection from the treasures
of our Trans-Atlantic brethren. Ed.

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