| I am a ploughboy stout and strong as ever drove a team
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| And three years since as I lay a-bed I had a dreadful dream
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| I dreamt I drove my master’s team three horses travelled far
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| Before a stiff and armoured plough as all my masters are
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| I found the ground was baked so hard 'twas more like bricks than clay
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| I could not cut my furrow through nor would my beasts obey
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| The more I whipped and slashed and swore the less my horses tried
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| Dobbin lay down and Belle and Star ignored my threats and cries
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| Till low above me appeared a youth he seemed to hang in air
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| And all around a dazzling light which made my eyes to stare
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| «Give over cruel wretch» he cried «do not thy beasts abuse
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| Think if the ground was not so hard they would their work refuse»
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| Besides I heard thee curse and swear as if dumb beasts could know
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| Just what your oaths and cursing meant it’s better far than gold
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| That you should know that there is one who knows thy sins full well
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| And what shall be thy after doom another shall thee tell"
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| No more he said but light as air he vanished from my sight
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| And with him went the sun’s bright beams 'twas all as dark as night
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| The thunder roared from underground the earth it seemed to gape
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| Blue flames broke forth and in those flames appeared an awful shape
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| «I soon shall call thee mine» he cried with a voice so clear and deep
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| And quivering like an Aspen leaf I woke out of my sleep
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| So ponder well you ploughboys all this dream that I have told
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| And if the work goes hard with you its worth your wage in gold |