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8
The Beggar Girl.
OVER the mountain and over the moor,
Hungry and barefoot I wander forlorn;
My father is dead, and my mother is poor,
And she grieves for the days that will never return.
Pity kind gentlefolks, friend of humanity,
Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on;
Give me some food for my mother in charity.
Give me some food and I will be gone.
FINIS.
