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With main and might
Dances the ace.
Sun at its height,
He holds his place.
He dances long
With might and main.
Like tiger strong
He holds the rein.
A flute in his left hand,
In his right a plume fine,
Red-faced, he holds command ,
Given a cup of wine.
Hazel above,
Sweet grass below.
Who is not sick for love
Of the dancing Beau?
Who is not sick for love
Of the Western Beau?