Now by luck two men arrive,
And with their hooks and sticks contrive
The struggling dunderhead to hive,
And soon they fish him out alive.
Stands he now, the dripping bloke,
And sees no humor in the joke;
Water streams from hair and clothes,
And flows in rivers down his nose;
He's water-soaked from head to heels,
But can't express half what he feels.
Those little fish go swimming by
And up at him they cock their eye,
And stick their heads out full aspan,
And laugh as only fishes can;
Laugh and giggle, jeer and snort –
How strange to see them thus cavort!
Meantime the atlas, gone astray,
Has drifted many yards away.