Best Famous Marriott Edgar Poems

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12
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Albert and the Lion

 There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was young Albert, All dressed in his best; quite a swell With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle, The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much of the Ocean: The waves, they were fiddlin' and small, There was no wrecks and nobody drownded, Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.
So, seeking for further amusement, They paid and went into the Zoo, Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels, And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big Lion called Wallace; His nose were all covered with scars - He lay in a somnolent posture, With the side of his face on the bars.
Now Albert had heard about Lions, How they was ferocious and wild - To see Wallace lying so peaceful, Well, it didn't seem right to the child.
So straightway the brave little feller, Not showing a morsel of fear, Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle And pushed it in Wallace's ear.
You could see that the Lion didn't like it, For giving a kind of a roll, He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im, And swallowed the little lad 'ole.
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence, And didn't know what to do next, Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert', And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!' Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom - Quite rightly, when all's said and done - Complained to the Animal Keeper, That the Lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it; He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?' Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!' The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?' Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert, 'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.
' Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller; I think it's a shame and a sin, For a lion to go and eat Albert, And after we've paid to come in.
' The manager wanted no trouble, He took out his purse right away, Saying 'How much to settle the matter?' And Pa said "What do you usually pay?' But Mother had turned a bit awkward When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' - So that was decided upon.
Then off they went to the P'lice Station, In front of the Magistrate chap; They told 'im what happened to Albert, And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his opinion That no one was really to blame And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing, 'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

The Channel Swimmer

 Would you hear a Wild tale of adventure 
Of a hero who tackled the sea,
A super-man swimming the ocean,
Then hark to the tale of Joe Lee.
Our Channel, our own Straits of Dover Had heen swum by an alien lot: Our British-born swimmers had tried it, But that was as far as they'd got.
So great was the outcry in England, Darts Players neglected their beer, And the Chanc'Ior proclaimed from the Woolsack As Joe Lee were the chap for this 'ere.
For in swimming baths all round the country Joe were noted for daring and strength; Quite often he'd dived in the deep end, And thought nothing of swimming a length.
So they wrote him, C/o Workhouse Master, Joe were spending the summer with him, And promised him two Christmas puddings If over the Channel he'd swim.
Joe jumped into t' breach like an 'ero, He said, "All their fears I'll relieve, And it isn't their puddings I'm after, As I told them last Christmas Eve.
"Though many have tackled the Channel From Grisnez to Dover that is, For the honour and glory of England I'll swim from Dover to Gris-niz.
" As soon as his words were made public The newspapers gathered around And offered to give him a pension If he lost both his legs and got drowned.
He borrowed a tug from the Navy To swim in the shelter alee, The Wireless folk lent him a wavelength, And the Water Board lent him the sea.
His wife strapped a mascot around him, The tears to his eyes gently stole; 'Twere some guiness corks she had collected And stitched to an old camisole.
He entered the water at daybreak, A man with a camera stood near, He said "Hurry up and get in, lad, You're spoiling my view of the pier.
" At last he were in, he were swimming With a beautiful overarm stroke, When the men on the tug saw with horror That the rope he were tied to had broke.
Then down came a fog, thick as treacle, The tug looked so distant and dim A voice shouted "Help, I am drowning," Joe listened and found it were him.
The tug circled round till they found him, They hauled him aboard like a sack, Tied a new tow-rope around him, Smacked him and then threw him back.
'Twere at sunset, or just a bit later, That he realized all wasn't right, For the tow-rope were trailing behind him And the noose round his waist getting tight.
One hasty glance over his shoulder, He saw in a flash what were wrong.
The Captain had shut off his engine, Joe were towing the Tugboat along.
On and on through the darkness he paddled Till he knew he were very near in By the way he kept bumping the bottom And hitting the stones with his chin.
Was it Grisniz he'd reached?.
.
.
No, it wasn't, The treacherous tide in its track Had carried him half-way to Blackpool And he had to walk all the way back.
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Goalkeeper Joe

 Joe Dunn were a bobby for football 
He gave all his time to that sport, 
He played for the West Wigan Whippets, 
On days when they turned out one short.
He’d been member of club for three seasons And had grumbled again and again, Cos he found only time that they’d used him, Were when it were pouring with rain! He felt as his talents were wasted When each week his job seemed to be No but minding the clothes for the others And chucking clods at referee! So next time selection committee Came round to ask him for his sub He told them if they didn’t play him, He’d transfer to some other club.
Committee they coaxed and cudgelled him But found he’d have none of their shifts So they promised to play him next weekend In match against Todmorden Swifts.
This match were the plum of the season An annual fixture it stood, ‘T were reckoned as good as a cup tie By them as liked plenty of blood! The day of the match dawned in splendour A beautiful morning it were With a fog drifting up from the brick fields And a drizzle of rain in the air.
The Whippets made Joe their goalkeeper A thing as weren’t wanted at all For they knew once battle had started They’d have no time to mess with the ball! Joe stood by the goal posts and shivered While the fog round his legs seemed to creep 'Til feeling neglected and lonely He leant back and went fast asleep.
He dreamt he were playing at Wembley And t’roar of a thundering cheer He were kicking a goal for the Whippets When he woke with a clout in his ear! He found 'twere the ball that had struck him And inside the net there it lay But as no one had seen this ‘ere ‘appen He punted it back into play! 'Twere the first ball he’d punted in anger His feelings he couldn’t restrain Forgetting as he were goalkeeper He ran out and kicked it again! Then after the ball like a rabbit He rushed down the field full of pride He reckoned if nobody stopped him Then ‘appen he’d score for his side.
‘Alf way down he bumped into his captain Who weren’t going to let him go by But Joe, like Horatio Nelson Put a fist to the Captain’s blind eye! On he went 'til the goal lay before him Then stopping to get himself set He steadied the ball, and then kicked it And landed it right in the net! The fog seemed to lift at that moment And all eyes were turned on the lad The Whippets seemed kind of dumbfounded While the Swifts started cheering like mad! 'Twere his own goal as he’d kicked the ball through He’d scored for his foes ‘gainst his friends For he’d slept through the referee’s whistle And at half time he hadn’t changed ends! Joe was transferred from the West Wigan Whippets To the Todmorden Swifts, where you’ll see Still minding the clothes for the others And chucking clods at referee!
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

The Lion and Albert

 There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was young Albert, All dressed in his best; quite a swell With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle, The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much of the Ocean: The waves, they were fiddlin' and small, There was no wrecks and nobody drownded, Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.
So, seeking for further amusement, They paid and went into the Zoo, Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels, And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big Lion called Wallace; His nose were all covered with scars - He lay in a somnolent posture, With the side of his face on the bars.
Now Albert had heard about Lions, How they was ferocious and wild - To see Wallace lying so peaceful, Well, it didn't seem right to the child.
So straightway the brave little feller, Not showing a morsel of fear, Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle And pushed it in Wallace's ear.
You could see that the Lion didn't like it, For giving a kind of a roll, He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im, And swallowed the little lad 'ole.
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence, And didn't know what to do next, Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert', And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!' Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom - Quite rightly, when all's said and done - Complained to the Animal Keeper, That the Lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it; He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?' Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!' The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?' Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert, 'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.
' Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller; I think it's a shame and a sin, For a lion to go and eat Albert, And after we've paid to come in.
' The manager wanted no trouble, He took out his purse right away, Saying 'How much to settle the matter?' And Pa said "What do you usually pay?' But Mother had turned a bit awkward When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' - So that was decided upon.
Then off they went to the P'lice Station, In front of the Magistrate chap; They told 'im what happened to Albert, And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his opinion That no one was really to blame And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing, 'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Sams Christmas Pudding

 It was Christmas Day in the trenches
In Spain in Penninsular War,
And Sam Small were cleaning his musket
A thing as he'd ne're done before.
They'd had 'em inspected that morning And Sam had got into disgrace, For when sergeant had looked down the barrel A sparrow flew out in his face.
The sergeant reported the matter To Lieutenant Bird then and there.
Said Lieutenant 'How very disgusting' The Duke must be told of this 'ere.
' The Duke were upset when he heard He said, 'I'm astonished, I am.
I must make a most drastic example There'll be no Christmas pudding for Sam.
' When Sam were informed of his sentence Surprise, rooted him to the spot.
'Twas much worse than he had expected, He though as he'd only be shot.
And so he sat cleaning his musket And polishing barrel and butt.
While the pudding his mother had sent him, Lay there in the mud at his foot.
Now the centre that Sam's lot were holding Ran around a place called Badajoz.
Where the Spaniards had put up a bastion And ooh.
.
.
! what a bastion it was.
They pounded away all the morning With canister, grape shot and ball.
But the face of the bastion defied them, They made no impression at all.
They started again after dinner Bombarding as hard as they could.
And the Duke brought his own private cannon But that weren't a ha'pence o' good.
The Duke said, 'Sam, put down thy musket And help me lay this gun true.
' Sam answered, 'You'd best ask your favours From them as you give pudding to.
' The Duke looked at Sam so reproachful 'And don't take it that way,' said he.
'Us Generals have got to be ruthless It hurts me more than it did thee.
' Sam sniffed at these words kind of sceptic, Then looked down the Duke's private gun.
And said 'We'd best put in two charges, We'll never bust bastion with one.
' He tipped cannon ball out of muzzle He took out the wadding and all.
He filled barrel chock full of powder, Then picked up and replaced the ball.
He took a good aim at the bastion Then said 'Right-o, Duke, let her fly.
' The cannon nigh jumped off her trunnions, And up went the bastion, sky high.
The Duke, he weren't 'alf elated He danced around trench full of glee.
And said, 'Sam, for this gallant action.
You can hot up your pudding for tea.
' Sam looked 'round to pick up his pudding But it wasn't there, nowhere about.
In the place where he thought he had left it, Lay the cannon ball he'd just tipped out.
Sam saw in a flash what 'ad happened: By an unprecedented mishap.
The pudding his mother had sent him, Had blown Badajoz off map.
That's why fuisilliers wear to this moment A badge which they think's a grenade.
But they're wrong.
.
.
it's a brass reproduction, Of the pudding Sam's mother once made.
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Sam Goes To It

 Sam Small had retired from the Army,
In the old Duke of Wellington's time,
So when present unpleasantness started,
He were what you might call.
.
.
past his prime.
He'd lived for some years in retirement, And knew nowt of war, if you please, Till they blasted and bombed his allotment, And shelled the best part of his peas.
'T were as if bugles called Sam to duty, For his musket he started to search, He found it at last in the Hen house, Buff Orpingtons had it for perch.
Straight off to the Fusilliers' depot, He went to rejoin his old troop.
.
.
Where he found as they couldn't recruit Him, Until his age group was called up.
Now Sam wasn't getting no younger, Past the three score and ten years was he, And he reckoned by time they reached his age group, He'd be very near ten score and three.
So he took up the matter with Churchill, Who said, "I don't know what to do, Never was there a time when so many, Came asking so much from so few.
" "I don't want no favours" Sam answered, "Don't think as I'm one of that mob, All I'm asking is give me the tools, lad, And let me help finish the job.
" "I'll fit you in somewhere," said Winnie, "Old soldiers we must not discard.
" Then seeing he'd got his own musket, He sent him to join the Home Guard.
They gave Sam a coat with no stripes on, In spite of the service he'd seen, Which considering he'd been a King's sergeant, Kind of rankled.
.
.
you know what I mean.
He said "I come back to the Army, Expecting my country's thanks, And the first thing I find when I get here, Is that I've been reduced to the ranks.
He found all the lads sympathetic, They agreed that 'twere a disgrace, Except one old chap in the corner, With a nutcracker kind of a face.
Said the old fella, "Who do you think you are? The last to appear on the scene, And you start off by wanting promotion, Last come, last served.
.
.
see what I mean?" Said Sam, "Wasn't I at Corunna, And when company commander got shot, Didn't I lead battalion to victory?" Said the old fella, "No.
.
.
you did not.
" "I didn't?" said Sam quite indignent, "Why, in every fight Wellington fought, Wasn't I at his right hand to guard him?" Said old chap, "You were nowt of the sort.
" "What do you know of Duke and his battles?" Said Sam, with a whithering look, Said the old man, "I ought to know something, Between you and me.
.
.
I'm the Duke.
" And if you should look in any evening, You'll find them both in the canteen, Ex Commander-in-Chief and ex Sergeant, Both just Home Guards.
.
.
you know what I mean?
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Jonah and the Grampus

 I'll tell you the story of Jonah,
A really remarkable tale;
A peaceful and humdrum existence he had
Until one day he went for a sail.
The weather were grand when they started, But later at turn of the tide The wind started blowing, the water got rough, And Jonah felt funny inside.
When the ship started pitching and tossing He tried hard his feelings to smother, At last he just leant his head over the side And one thing seemed to bring up another.
When the sailors saw what he were doing It gave them a bit of a jar; They didn't mind trippers enjoying theirselves, But thowt this 'ere were going too far.
Said one "Is there nowt you can think on To stop you from feelin' so bad?" And Jonah said "Aye, lift me over the side And chuck me in, there's a good lad.
" The sailor were not one to argue, He said "Happen you know what's best.
" Then he picked Jonah up by the seat of his pants And chucked him in, as per request.
A Grampus came up at that moment, And seeing the old man hard set, It swam to his side and it opened its mouth And said "Come in lad, out of the wet.
" Its manner were kindly and pleading, As if to say R.
S.
V.
P.
Said Jonah "I've eaten a kipper or two, But I never thowt one would eat me.
" The inside of Grampus surprised him, 'Twere the first time he'd been behind scenes; He found 'commodation quite ample for one But it smelled like a tin of sardines.
Then over the sea they went cruising, And Jonah were filled with delight; With his eye to the blow-'ole in t'Grampus's head He watched ships that passed in the night.
"I'm tired of watching," said Jonah, "I'll rest for a minute or so.
" "I'm afraid as you wont find your bed very soft," Said the Grampus, "I've got a hard roe.
" At that moment up came a whale boat, Said Jonah, "What's this 'ere we've struck?" "They're after my blubber," the Grampus replied, "You'd better 'old tight while I duck.
" The water came in through the spy-'ole And hit Jonah's face a real slosher, He said, "Shut your blow-'ole!" and Grampus replied "I can't lad, it needs a new washer.
" Jonah tried 'ard to bail out the water, But found all his efforts in vain, For as fast as he emptied the slops out through the gills They came in through the blow 'ole again.
When at finish they came to the surface Jonah took a look out and he saw They were stuck on a bit of a sandbank that lay One rod, pole or perch from the shore.
Said the Grampus, "We're in shallow water, I've brought you as far as I may; If you sit on the blow 'ole on top of my head I'll spout you the rest of the way.
" So Jonah obeyed these instructions, And the Grampus his lungs did expand, Then blew out a fountain that lifted Jo' up And carried him safely to land.
There was tears in their eyes when they parted And each blew a kiss, a real big 'un, Then the Grampus went off with a swish of it's tail And Jonah walked back home to Wigan.
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Henry the Seventh

 Henry the Seventh of England
Wasn't out of the Royal top drawer,
The only connection of which he could boast,
He were King's nephew's brother-in-law.
It were after the Wars of the Roses That he came to the front, as it were, When on strength of his having slain Richard the Third He put himself up as his heir.
T'were a bit of a blow to the Barons When Henry aspired to the Throne, And some who'd been nursing imperial hopes Started pushing out claims of their own.
But they didn't get far with their scheming, For the moment the matter were pressed A stroke of the pen took them off to the Tower, Where a stroke of the axe did the rest.
A feller they called Perkin Warbeck Was the one who led Henry a dance, To make sure that nowt awkward should happen to him He worked from an office in France.
He claimed to be one of the Princes As were smothered to death in the Tower.
His tale was that only his brother was killed And that he had escaped the seas ower.
Henry knew the appeal of the Princes Was a strong one for Perkin to make, And he reckoned he'd best have a chat with the lad And find out the least he would take.
In reply to his kind invitation Perkin said he'd he happy to call, But he'd bring his own escort of ten thousand men And a hundred pipers an' all.
This reply put the King in a passion He swore as he'd stop Perkin's fun, Then he offered a fortune per annum to him As could tell him how his could be done.
Then up spoke the bold Lambert Simne The King's private scullion he were, He said: "Just one word in thy ear 'ole, O King, I've a plan as will stop all this 'ere.
" Then he took the King up in a corner, Where no one could hear what they said, He hadn't got far when King started to laff And he laffed till he had to he bled.
T 'were a plan to anticipate Perkin, By getting in first with these tales, Start another rebellion before he arrived And take the wind out of his sails.
And so Lambert Simnel's rebellion Made its fateful debut in the North Experts disagree who he made out to be, John the Second or Richard the Fourth.
T 'was surprising how many believed him They flocked to his flag like one man, For in them days the folk would do owt for a change, And their motto was, " San fairy ann.
" It were quite a success this rebellion Till t'were routed by Henry at Stoke, And Lambert were taken and made to confess That his parents was working class folk.
The public forgave this deception, The thing that made them proper mad Was a twopenny increase on every one's rates To pay for the fun they had had.
And so when Peter Warbeck came over Expecting his praise to be sung, He was greeted, defeated, escheated, unseated, Maltreated and finally hung.
And the Baron went back to his castle, The Peasant went back to his herd, Lambert Simnel went back to his scullion's job Because Henry went back on his word.
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

Three HaPence a Foot

 I'll tell you an old-fashioned story 
That Grandfather used to relate, 
Of a joiner and building contractor; 
'Is name, it were Sam Oglethwaite.
In a shop on the banks of the Irwell, Old Sam used to follow 'is trade, In a place you'll have 'eard of, called Bury; You know, where black puddings is made.
One day, Sam were filling a knot 'ole Wi' putty, when in thro' the door Came an old feller fair wreathed wi' whiskers; T'ould chap said 'Good morning, I'm Noah.
' Sam asked Noah what was 'is business, And t'ould chap went on to remark, That not liking the look of the weather, 'E were thinking of building an Ark.
'E'd gotten the wood for the bulwarks, And all t'other shipbuilding junk, And wanted some nice Bird's Eye Maple To panel the side of 'is bunk.
Now Maple were Sam's Monopoly; That means it were all 'is to cut, And nobody else 'adn't got none; So 'e asked Noah three ha'pence a foot.
'A ha'penny too much,' replied Noah 'A Penny a foot's more the mark; A penny a foot, and when t'rain comes, I'll give you a ride in me Ark.
' But neither would budge in the bargain; The whole daft thing were kind of a jam, So Sam put 'is tongue out at Noah, And Noah made 'Long Bacon ' at Sam In wrath and ill-feeling they parted, Not knowing when they'd meet again, And Sam had forgot all about it, 'Til one day it started to rain.
It rained and it rained for a fortni't, And flooded the 'ole countryside.
It rained and it kept' on raining, 'Til the Irwell were fifty mile wide.
The 'ouses were soon under water, And folks to the roof 'ad to climb.
They said 'twas the rottenest summer That Bury 'ad 'ad for some time.
The rain showed no sign of abating, And water rose hour by hour, 'Til the only dry land were at Blackpool, And that were on top of the Tower.
So Sam started swimming to Blackpool; It took 'im best part of a week.
'Is clothes were wet through when 'e got there, And 'is boots were beginning to leak.
'E stood to 'is watch-chain in water, On Tower top, just before dark, When who should come sailing towards 'im But old Noah, steering 'is Ark.
They stared at each other in silence, 'Til Ark were alongside, all but, Then Noah said: 'What price yer Maple?' Sam answered 'Three ha'pence a foot.
' Noah said 'Nay; I'll make thee an offer, The same as I did t'other day.
A penny a foot and a free ride.
Now, come on, lad, what does tha say?' 'Three ha'pence a foot,' came the answer.
So Noah 'is sail 'ad to hoist, And sailed off again in a dudgeon, While Sam stood determined, but moist.
Noah cruised around, flying 'is pigeons, 'Til fortieth day of the wet, And on 'is way back, passing Blackpool, 'E saw old Sam standing there yet.
'Is chin just stuck out of the water; A comical figure 'e cut, Noah said: 'Now what's the price of yer Maple?' Sam answered: 'Three ha'pence a foot.
' Said Noah: 'Ye'd best take my offer; It's last time I'll be hereabout; And if water comes half an inch higher, I'll happen get Maple for nowt.
' 'Three ha'pence a foot it'll cost yer, And as fer me,' Sam said, 'don't fret.
The sky's took a turn since this morning; I think it'll brighten up yet.
'
Written by Marriott Edgar | Create an image from this poem

The Burghers of Calais

 It were after the Battle of Crecy- 
The foe all lay dead on the ground- 
And King Edward went out with his soldiers
To clean up the places around.
The first place they came to were Calais, Where t' burghers all stood in a row, And when Edward told them to surrender They told Edward where he could go.
Said he, " I'll beleaguer this city, I'll teach them to flout their new King - Then he told all his lads to get camp-stools And sit round the place in a ring.
Now the burghers knew nowt about Crecy- They laughed when they saw Edward's plan- And thinking their side were still winning, They shrugged and said- " San fairy Ann.
" But they found at the end of a fortnight That things wasn't looking so nice, With nowt going out but the pigeons, And nowt coming in but the mice.
For the soldiers sat round on their camp-stools, And never a foot did they stir, But passed their time doing their knitting, And crosswords, and things like that there.
The burghers began to get desperate Wi' t' food supply sinking so low, For they'd nowt left but dry bread and water, Or what they called in French "pang" and "oh" They stuck it all autumn and winter, But when at last spring came around They was bothered, bewitched and beleaguered, And cods' heads was tenpence a pound.
So they hung a white flag on the ramparts To show they was sick of this 'ere- And the soldiers, who'd finished their knitting, All stood up and gave them a cheer.
When King Edward heard they had surrendered He said to them, in their own tongue, "You've kept me here all football season, And twelve of you's got to be hung.
" Then up stood the Lord Mayor of Calais, "I'll make one" he gallantly cried- Then he called to his friends on the Council To make up the rest of the side.
When the townspeople heard of the hanging They rushed in a crowd through the gate- They was all weeping tears of compassion, And hoping they wasn't too late.
With ropes round their necks the twelve heroes Stood proudly awaiting their doom, Till the hangman at last crooked his finger And coaxingly said to them-" Come.
At that moment good Queen Phillippa Ran out of her bower and said- Oh, do have some mercy, my husband; Oh don't be so spiteful, dear Ted.
" Then down on her knee-joints before them She flopped, and in accents that rang, Said, "Please, Edward, just to oblige me, You can't let these poor burghers hang.
The King was so touched with her pleading, He lifted his wife by the hand And he gave her all twelve as a keepsake And peace once again reigned in the land.
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