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[[blank page]] [[end page]] [[start page]] The people I know are poor but happy Their tempers are short but their patience long Their eyes light up and their feet get tappy When they hear the strains of a [[strikethrough]]highland[[/strikethrough]] lilting song. The magic touch of our blessed blarney Has won us fame to the ends of the earth From the lakes and fens of old Kilarney To the last least land With the smallest worth. [[end page]]