| Good people all with one accord
|
| Lament for Mary Blaize
|
| She never wanted one good word
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| From those who spoke her praise
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| The needy seldom passed her door
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| And always found her kind
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| She freely lent to all the poor
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| Who left a pledge behind
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| She strove the neightbourhood to please
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| With manners wonderous winning
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| She never followed wicked way
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| Unless when she was sinning
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| At church in silks and satins new
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| With hoop of monstrous size
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| She never slumbered in her pew
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| But when she closed her eyes
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| Her love was sought I do declare
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| By twenty beaux and more
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| The king himself did seem ti care
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| Where she had walked before
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| But wealth and finery all fled
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| And hangers on all gone
|
| The doctors found when she was dead
|
| The life within her none
|
| Good people all with one accord
|
| Lament for Mary Blaize
|
| She never wanted one good word
|
| From those who spoke her praise
|
| The needy seldom passed her door
|
| And always found her kind
|
| She freely lent to all the poor
|
| Who left a pledge behind
|
| Let us lament in sorrow sore
|
| For Kent Street well may say
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| That had she lived a twelve month more
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| She had not died today |