Oh
The humble serf ling zhe
Whose lord sent him away
Was starving, so he lay
His mouth open, all day
Beneath a mulberry tree
In case a berry fell
For how long, who can tell
He was not looking well
The tree had crummy aim
The man in purple came
And asked ling zhe his name
And gave him grog and game
And little cakes, and some tea
The end

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