The next amusement mortgages our fields.
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!
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Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.
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RGB: 39 124 105
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RGB: 245 91 89
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RGB: 101 23 37
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RGB: 170 191 176
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RGB: 255 214 97