2SandedWomen
the lord mayor and lady mayoress without his golden chain.
| 2SandedWomen At Haddington road corner, we halt ourselves, an umbrella and a bag in which eleven cockles rolled to view with wonder |
|
| 2SandedWomen one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled. |
|
| 2SandedWomen Fresh from our whiff of the briny, we trudge through Irishtown along London bridge road, |
|
| 2SandedWomen the lord mayor and lady mayoress without his golden chain. |
|
| 2SandedWomen At Haddington road corner, we halt ourselves, an umbrella and a bag in which eleven cockles rolled to view with wonder |
|
| 2SandedWomen one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled. |
|
| 2SandedWomen Fresh from our whiff of the briny, we trudge through Irishtown along London bridge road, |
|
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