As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. The prisoner, however, submitted more quietly than was anticipated.
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