When ’Omer Smote ’is Bloomin’ Lyre

Rudyard Kipling

WHEN ’Omer smote ’is bloomin’ lyre,
    He’d ’eard men sing by land an’ sea;
An’ what he thought ’e might require,
    ’E went an’ took—the same as me!

The market-girls an’ fishermen,
    The shepherds an’ the sailors, too,
They ’eard old songs turn up again,
    But kep’ it quiet—same as you!

They knew ’e stole; ’e knew they knowed.
    They didn’t tell, nor make a fuss,
But winked at ’Omer down the road,
    An’ ’e winked back—the same as us!

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