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The Rose did caper on her cheek
Her Bodice rose and fell
Her pretty speech—like drunken men
Did stagger pitiful

Her fingers fumbled at her work
Her needle would not go
What ailed so smart a little Maid
It puzzled me to know

Till opposite—I spied a cheek
That bore another Rose
Just opposite—Another speech
That like the Drunkard goes

A Vest that like her Bodice, danced
To the immortal tune
Till those two troubled—little Clocks
Ticked softly into one