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: 131 39 50
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RGB: 146 63 93
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RGB: 190 37 39
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RGB: 74 83 112
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RGB: 130 92 115