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Strawberry Fair

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1. As I was going to Strawberry Fair,

Singing, singing,

Buttercups and daisies,

I met a maiden taking her ware, Foldedee !

Her eyes were blue and golden her hair,

As she went on to Strawberry Fair.

/.Rifol, rifol, toldiriddlelido.:/

 

2. Kind Sir, pray pick of my basket, she said,

Singing ...

My cherries ripe, or my roses red, Foldedee!

 My strawberries sweet I ean of them spare,

As I go on to Strawberry Fair.

/:Rifol ... :/

 

3. Your cherries soon will be wasted away,

Singing ...

Your roses wither and never stay, Foldedee!

'Tis not to seek such perishing ware,

That I am tramping to Strawberry Fair.

/:Rifol ... :/

 

4. I want to purehase a gen'rous heart,

Singing ...

A tongue that neither is nimble nor tart, Foldedee!

An honest mind, but such trifles are rare,

I doubt if they're found at Strawberry Fair.

/:Rifol ... :/

 

5. The price I offer, my sweet pretty maid,

Singing ...

A ring of gold on your finger displayed, Foldedee!

So come, make over to me your ware,

In church to-day at Strawberry Fair.

/:Rifol ... :/

--

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