< Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu
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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.

97

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