Though she sobbed, and her bare bosom heaved,
Swore she loved him, he wasn’t deceived,
And, at last, she confessed
That the child at her breast
Was not his, but alas, preconceived.
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Though she sobbed, and her bare bosom heaved,
Swore she loved him, he wasn’t deceived,
And, at last, she confessed
That the child at her breast
Was not his, but alas, preconceived.