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Quite cross, a bit of string I beg, And tie it to his peg-top's peg, And bang with might and main It's head against the parlour-door: Off flies the head, and hits the floor And breaks a window-pane. This made him cry with rage and spite; Well, let him cry, it serves him right. A pretty thing, forsooth! If he's to melt, all scalding hot, Half my doll's nose, and I am not To draw his peg-top's tooth!