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The Fatal Lozenge, By Edward Gorey

An Apparition of her lover She recognizes with dismay; and later on she will discover that he himself had died today.

The Effigy, got up with clothing Abstracted from the victim's room Is raised aloft to cheers of loathing Before it meets a flaming doom

The Drudge expends her life in mopping, In emptying and filling pails; And she will do so, never stopping, Until her strength entirely fails.

The Lazar, blessed with an appearance Enough to give the strongest qualms. Has little need of perseverance In prompting a display of alms.

The Magnate waits upon the pavement For his enormous limousine And ponders further child-enslavement And other projects still more mean.

The Nun is fearfully bedevilled: She runs about and moans and shrieks; Her flesh is bruised, her clothes dishevelled: She's been like this for weeks and weeks.

The Proctor buys a pupil ices, And hopes the boy will not resist When he attempts to practise vices Few people even know exist.

The Quarry, fleeing from the outing, Sinks panting in the reeds and mud; And Hearkens to the distant shouting That tells him they are out for blood.

The Rescurrections goes plying Without ado his simple trade; Material is always dying And got with nothing but a spade.

The Zouave used to war and battle Would sooner take a life than not: It scarcely has begun to prattle When he impales the hapless tot.

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