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He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands,
When they found him with the dead
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave ma with a sword!
Some ki