The Fiddler

A poem by Robert Fuller Murray

There's a fiddler in the street,
And the children all are dancing:
Two dozen lightsome feet
Springing and prancing.

Pleasure he gives to you,
Dance then, and spare not!
For the poor fiddler's due,
Know not and care not.

While you are prancing,
Let the fiddler play.
When you're tired of dancing
He may go away.

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