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The early poems of John Clare

1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger

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BALLAD

[Alas what a pity, the maid of the city]

Alas what a pity, the maid of the city
Shoud ere a bin seen by the chaps of our town
For some act as crazy while others turn lazy
& all's out of sorts sin' the day she came down
Her cheeks paint so blooming her clo'hs sweet perfuming
The citys gay tinsel so dazzles the clown
O bother past shunning sin she dash'd from lunon
A bedlams bin made of our unhappy town
She passes the ploughmen, they make a low bow mun
While hearts from their bosoms are bidding adieu
She starts the shoemaker whose eye cant forsaker
Tills hawl pricks his fingers as deep as his shoe

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The taylor lord love him the lass has undone him
His fingers forsaken its old thimble crown
His needle points broken he's drinking & smoaking
&'s neer stuck to work sin the day she came town
Her name theres no telling so hard is the spelling
Ameeley Opheeley or some such a sound
But in the clowns ditty shes ‘flower of the city’
& bodkin neer drinks but the ‘city’ goes round
Ah woe to our village sin she came for pillage
& stole the weak hearts of each thunder struck clown
Poor bodkins & brustles & ploughmen by hustles
Shes playd a sad game wi' our unlucky town