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He drank the wine of life by sips,
He roundly ate and soundly slept,
His spirits suffered no eclipse,
But Lord! how sore he would have wept
To see his private linen bleach
And flutter in the public view . . .
Well, kisses are a shilling each,
Let us adventure on a few!
Envoy.
O Ballad-monger, I beseech,Consider his advice anew
When kisses are a shilling each
Why not adventure on a few?
