The boy stood on the frozen fleck, Anc! wished that he was dead; The wind blew round his naked neck, The rain beat on his head, lie caught a cold—a killing cough, And said, "I'm done for sure"; But now he's well, his cold is off, Through Woods' Great Papermint Cure.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/KCC19120626.2.40.2
Bibliographic details
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King Country Chronicle, Volume VI, Issue 477, 26 June 1912, Page 7
Word count
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51Page 7 Advertisements Column 2 King Country Chronicle, Volume VI, Issue 477, 26 June 1912, Page 7
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