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‹‹‹ prev (168) Page 162Page 162My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form

(170) next ››› Page 164Page 164Whistle o'er the lave o't

(169) Page 163 -
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tive grace so void of art, But
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I a - dore my Peg-gy's heart
The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye,
Who but owns their magic sway ?
Who but knows they all decay ?
The tender thrill, the pitying tear^
The gen'rous purpose nobly dear,
The gentle look that rage disarms ;
These are all immortal charms.

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