The biggest lobster clung outside the pot,
When I hauled up, too big to get inside:
But I secured the beggar, though he tried
To nip me—and he'd done it, like as not,
Had I not nimble fingers: and he'd got
The bluest fan I ever saw. He died
The death of lobsters; and the beggar cried
Just like a baby, when he felt the hot
Water boil over him …
And my wife, who lay
In childbed, started up; and, with a cry,
Fell fainting: and it never saw the day,
The baby …
Ay, it's so that lobsters die.