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There on a slope of orchard, Francis laid
A damask napkin wrough with horse and hound,
brought out a dusky loaf that smelt of home,
And cut down, a pasty costly made,
Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret, lay
Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks
Imbedded and in jellied.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
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