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A Zouave.
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A Zouave.
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You're to the soldiers quite a flunkey
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You're not so bad looking as some I know
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You're all aflame with woman's rights
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You're a sweet looking sailor boy, gallant and bold
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You're a gay Zoovey Zoo, with that big beard of thine
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You're a gay old Colonel, that's beyond a doubt
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Your Wife's the Boss.
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Your True Love.
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Your Own Portrait.
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Your Likeness.
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The Young Mother.
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The Young Flirt.
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You ugly, cross and wrinkled shrew
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You think yourself both bold and brave, of course
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You think your style is just the thing
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You talk so much of what you'll do
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You stingy, shrivel'd, wrinkled, close-skin'd skin-flint
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You sneaking, mean, soulless knave
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You Puppy.
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You may swagger and blow, but people all know
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You may sing psalms with sanctimonious face
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You love the contrabands too much
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You go in for the largest liberty
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You fat old cuss, give us your grub
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You doubtless think that prudence is a virtue
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You don't look handsome in your regimentals
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You dashing, dressy Bar-keeper, for a dandy you would pass
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You belong to the Sappers and Miners, `tis said
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You are my Valentine.
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You are my Darling.
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You and Your Beau.
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The Wounded Soldier.
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Would-Be Woman.
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Would-Be Hero.
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Worldly Evils.
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Woman's Rights.
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Woman's Rights.
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With the most ugly of all faces, Go on, and mimic all the graces
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Windy Day.
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Windy Day.
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A Wife for Old Nick.
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The Widower.
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A Widow.
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The Widow.
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Who'll Have Me.
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Who are you, rampaging stranger
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When first you came before my eyes
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When ancient damsels take to ice
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What more would you have, all plaided and stuffed
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What man is he that loveth not renown
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What Is It on Ice?
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The Wet-Nurse.
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Wet Nurse.
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A Weathercock.
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The weather-cock that turns it face
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Wearing the Breeches.
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Wearing the Breeches.
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Wearing the Breeches.
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