6 Hlfyt <2entt fttcreatfon* 



Them sure recesses, when the storms grow high, 

 Their constant harbours to the scaly fry. 



There begin, 

 And by an even throw, 

 Strive to deceive the Fishes mortal foe. 



Just to the brim, 

 Retrive the sinking Roach, 

 With gentle stirring then he will approach, 

 With eager hast to taste the Loved prey, 

 And Tyrant like take all, then turn away, 

 Then give him line and let the reel so be, 



From knots and snarl's exceeding free, 

 He'll quickly drown himself in his Debauchery ; 

 Yet to my sorrow I but lately found, 

 One took my bait and stoutly stood his ground. 

 While I expected he should run or fly, 

 The only certain sign to sing his obsequie : 



But he grown cunning, 



Lest his runing, 



Should himself destroy, 



Spit forth the bait, 



And made a safe retreat, 

 That baulk'd my much expected Joy. 



IV. 



