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Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray,
Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay,
Conversing with a bouncing lass, who seem'd to be in pain,
Saying, William, when you go, I fear you will ne'er return again.

His hair hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as soles,
My happiness attend him wherever he goes,
From Tower Hill, down to Blackwall, I'll wander, weep and moan,