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Here are a few lines to illustrate the style and language; but the whole poem must be read if one is to understand its crude strength and prophetic spirit: In a somer sesun, whon softe was the sonne, I schop me into a shroud, as I a scheep were, In habite as an heremite, unholy of werkes, Went wyde in this world, wondres to here.
I do skin off the potatoes and schop up the meat for the hash, and Babette, she do sweep with the broom and set out the table. And while we work she can tell me all there is going about outside, and I can tell how mooch bettare I am doing this day do not you see?" "I see you must be very happy together! But do you stay alone all day! And what if you need something, meanwhile?" she laughed.
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