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The rich farmers ruine
vvho murmured at the plenty of the seasons, because he could not sell corn so dear as his covetous heart desired. To the tune of, Why are my eyes still flowing, as it is play'd on the violin. This may be printed, R.P -
The rich farmers ruine
vvho murmured at the plenty of the seasons, because he could not sell corn so dear as his covetous heart desired. To the tune of, Why are my eyes still flowing, as it is play'd on the violin. This may be printed, R.P