(Started JSUemtfon* 



IT. 



But now I'll sing, how minds opprest by care, 

 Find sundry cures, but this the only rare, 

 While by a Chrystal brook, 

 With Rod and Line and Hook; 

 They strive for to surprise, 

 The Rovers of the watery Element, 

 Without a bad Intent 

 Of hoarding up their prize. 

 No Bags of Gold, for which the Misers wish, 

 And dies a Slave unto an empty Dish, 

 Can them entice 

 Their pleasure's more, 

 Then all the store, 

 That Damn themselves by greedy Avarice. 



Joys so supreme an Angler finds, 

 While all the stream he views and therein minds, 

 The true content, 

 Of time well spent, 

 In placing of his Hooks and Lines. 

 His several baits he varies both to time and place, 

 And thinks it no disgrace; 

 Sometime an eager Fish, 

 Frustrates the long expected wish, 



By 



