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 ‘What is it I see?’ said Keezar:
“Am I here, or am I there?
Is it a fete at Bingen?
Do I look on Frankfort fair?
But where are the clowns and puppets,
And imps with horns and tail?
And where are the Rhenish flagons?
And where is the foaming ale?
Strange things, I know, will happen,—
Strange things the Lord permits;
But that droughty folk should be jolly
Puzzles my poor old wits.
Here are smiling manly faces,
And the maiden's step is gay;
Nor sad by thinking, nor mad by drinking,
Nor mopes, nor fools, are they.
Here's pleasure without regretting,
And good without abuse,
The holiday and the bridal
Of beauty and of use.
Here's a priest and there is a Quaker,
Do the cat and dog agree?
Have they burned the stocks for ovenwood?
Have they cut down the gallows-tree?
Would the old folk know their children?
Would they own the graceless town,
With never a ranter to worry
And never a witch to drown? “
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