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The Highwayman came riding, up to the old inn/door. He whistled a tune to the window who should be waiting there.
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.
King George's men came matching, to the old inn. They had tied her up to attention.
The tip of one finger touched it: she strove no more the rest! Tlot- tlot in the distance the Highwayman came riding.
Nearer he came nearer! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last breath. Then her finger moved in the moonlight. She warned him with her death.
He spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky. Blood-red were his spurs I' the golden noon: wine red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway.
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