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Alfred Noyes

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Come and look for Peterkin, poor little Peterkin.
No one would believe us if we told them what we know,
Or they wouldn't grieve for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin...
--
Prelude

 
Alfred Noyes

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They wouldn't mourn for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin.
Put away your muskets, lay aside the drum,
Hang it by the wooden sword we made for little Peterkin!

 
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He was once our trumpeter, now his bugle's dumb,
Pile your arms beneath it, for the owlet light is come,
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"And everybody praised the Duke
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England was merry England, when
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My merry, merry, merry roundelay
Concludes with Cupid’s curse:
They that do change old love for new,
Pray gods, they change for worse!

 
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