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he lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,There’s men from the barn and the forge and the mill andthe fold, |The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old. There’s chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart,And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave,And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart,And few that will carry their looks or their truth to thegrave. I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tellThe fortunate fellows that now you can never discern;And then one could talk with them friendly and wish themfarewellAnd watch them depart on the way that they will not re-turn. But now you may stare as you like and there’s nothing to scan; And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told — They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man, The lads that will die in their glory and never be old. 38 A Shropshire Lad
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