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An entrance ne'er more so grand
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| o/` She was three less than a score, Must needs I speak no more, And her visage held incomparable delight. | |
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| For aught might I wit' other maidens flit, For she'd come thither upright. | |
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Beatlemania sweeps the land
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| To sleep with Paul, perchance so dreamy. | |
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| Boy, you look like a naughty girl, you've let your hair grow down. | |
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