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I tell you Dame, quoth he,
I can have as good as thee;
For when death my father did call,
He then did leave me all
His barrels and his brooms,
And a dozen of wo[o]den spoones,
Dishes six or seven,
Besides an old spade, even
A brasse pot and whimble,
A pack-needle and thimble,
A pudding prick and reele,
And my mothers own sitting wheele;
And also there fell to my lot