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WEBSTER WORCESTER,

THE CHAMPION SPELLER.

And "waggled" sore each valiant white;

Imported to a neighboring city,

Won dictionaries by the score,

Astonished each austere committee,

And spelled as ne'er boy spelled before.

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The rage is past, - no other feller

Could beat this little W. W.

At length he was the champion speller,

And always sure to quickly double you.

But one dark day he got a cold,

And worse it grew; at last he felt

His little life was nearly told,

His little life was nearly spelled.

Peace to his soul, - an ebon soul,

But better than a soul quite plain.

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