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And once, behind a rick of barley,
Right glad was he when he beheld her:
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had filled her apron full.
And fiercely by the arm he took her,
She pray'd, her wither'd hand uprearing,
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy-cold he turned away.
He went complaining all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill :
That day he wore a riding-coat,
'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
No word to any man he utters,
Poor Harry Gill is very cold." A-bed or up, by night or day; His teeth they chatter, chatter stilk Now think, ye farmers all, I pray, Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.