Love has had his way with me. This my heart is torn and maimed Since he took his play with me. Cruel well the bow-boy aimed, Shot, and saw the feathered shaft Dripping bright and bitter red. He that shrugged his wings and laughed- Better had he left me dead. Sweet, why do you plead me, then, Who have bled so sore of that? Could I bear it once again? . . . Drop a hat, dear, drop a hat!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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