| Major-Genral: Sighing softly to the river,
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| Comes the loving breeze;
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| Setting nature all a quiver,
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| Rustling thro' the trees-
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| Pirates & Police: Thro' the trees.
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| Major-Genral: And the brook, with rippling measure
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| Laughs for very love,
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| While the poplars, in their pleasure,
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| Wave their arms above.
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| Pirates & Police: Yes, the trees for very love,
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| Wave their leafy arms above.
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| All: River, river, little river,
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| May thy loving prosper ever,
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| Heaven speed thee poplar tree,
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| May thy wooing happy be,
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| Heaven speed thee poplar tress,
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| May thy wooing happy be!
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| Major-General: Yet, the breeze is but a rover;
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| When he wings a way!
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| Brook and poplar mourn a lover!
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| Sighing, «Well a day!»
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| Pirates & Police: «Well a day!»
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| Major-General: Ah, the doing and undoing
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| That the rogue could tell;
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| When the breeze is out a wooing,
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| Who can woo so well?
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| Pirates & Police: Shocking tales the rogue could tell,
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| Nobody can woo so well.
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| All: Pretty brook, thy dream is over,
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| For thy love is but a rover;
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| Sad the lot of poplar trees,
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| Courted by a fickle breeze, |
| Sad the lot of poplar trees,
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| Courted by a fickle breeze! |