  Oh, Roger Jones! Oh, Roger Jones! Oh, Prince! O, Knight! Ah me! We used to play at keeping house, Beneath an old oak tree. Your hair was red, your eyes were brown, You had a freckled nose; You were the father of my dolls, My husband—I suppose. Oh, Roger! You were only nine, And I was half-past eight; It really was romantic, or As good, at any rate. |
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