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 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
From the festival's pomp, and the table's array,
Pale Richard of Bourdeaux turned sadly away;
The thought of that time his remembrance appals,
When Famine scowled on him in Pomfret's dark walls.
Pale Richard of Bourdeaux turned sadly away;
The thought of that time his remembrance appals,
When Famine scowled on him in Pomfret's dark walls.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |