Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/113

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ALAS, ALACK!

ANN, Ann!
Come! quick as you can!
There's a fish that talks
In the frying-pan.
Out of the fat,
As clear as glass,
He put up his mouth
And moaned "Alas!"
Oh, most mournful,
"Alas, alack!"
Then turned to his sizzling,

And sank him back.

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