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O cousin Kate, my love was true,Your love was writ in sand:If he had fooled not me but you,If you had stood where i stand,He’d not have won me with his love,Nor bought me with his land;I would have spit into his faceAnd not have taken his hand.Yet I have a gift you have not got,And seem not like to get:For all your clothes and wedding-ringI’ve little doubt you fret.My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride,Cling closer, closer yet:Your father would give lands for oneto wear his coronet
