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Hint
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Answer
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if they would rather die
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they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population
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I am as light as a feather,
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I am as happy as an angel I am as merry as a schoolboy
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to Tiny Tim,
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who did not die he was a second father
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there's more of gravy
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than of grave about you
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I am not going to be
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imposed upon
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I know your purpose
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is to do me good
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I am prepared
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to bear your company and do it with a thankful heart
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What right have you to be merry?
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What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough
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I have come to dinner.
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Will you let me in, Fred
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Wonderful party,
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wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness
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My little,
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little child! My little child!
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I am sure
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we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim
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I wear the
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chain I forged in life
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of my own
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free will I wore it
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you were always
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a good man of business
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Mankind
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was my business
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I want nothing from you;
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I ask nothing of you why cannot we be friends
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I mean to give
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him the same chance every year
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(1) I am here to-night to warn you,
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that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate
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(2) A chance and
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hope of my procuring Ebenezer
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Your
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welfare
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they cling to me
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appealing from their fathers
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Have they no
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refuge or resource
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a few of us are
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endeavouring to raise a fund
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endeavour
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to assist your struggling family
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the happiness he gives
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is quite as great as if it cost a fortune
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Many can't go there;
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and many would rather die
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nobody said or thought
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that it was at all a small pudding for a large family
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brave
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in ribbons
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We may sleep to-night
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with light hearts, Caroline
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yellow, meagre,
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ragged, scowling, wolfish
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Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these?
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Not a dead man I suppose
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beware them both
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and all of their degree but most of all beware this boy
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I am
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very happy
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a solitary child
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neglected by his friends
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Father is so much
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kinder than he used to be
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as good a man
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as the good old city knew
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witness what it cannot share,
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but might have shared on earth and turned to happiness
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like a child,
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yet not so like a child as like an old man
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antique scabbard; but no sword was in it,
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and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust
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more than
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eighteen hundred
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Is it a foot
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or a claw
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It might be a claw
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for the flesh there is upon it
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shrouded in
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a deep black garment
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mysterious presence
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filled him with a solemn dread
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solitary
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as an oyster
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May you be happy
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in the life you have chosen
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sudden declension
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in his high spirits
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Merry Christmas
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every-one
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Yo ho,
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my boys
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You are
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quite a woman, little Fan
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I believe that it has done me good,
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and will do me good and I say God bless it
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Joe Miller never
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made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be
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Marley was dead to begin with
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there is no doubt whatever about that
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Are there no prisons?
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Are there no workhouses
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he knew how to keep
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Christmas well if any man alive possessed the knowledge
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