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They're staring out in their best indoor clothes,
With Mrs Andrews looking down her nose
And Mr A with gun and hunter's pose:
Mr and Mrs Andrews are refined.

They're at the front of their vast spread of land
Where workers work, and labour's all by hand.
They don't help out themselves, you understand.
Mr and Mrs Andrews aren't that kind.

They make plain what their future's going to be:
Andrews will hold all that thy eye can see
And keep this idyll of stability.
Mr and Mrs Andrews know their mind.