30 f)t <E*mtttl ISUcreatiott* 



No Eele-Pots, nor no Nets, but Shovel and an Awl 

 Creating Pleasure, if Pleasures be at all. 

 Angler forbear to smile 

 At what I now relate, 

 Have Patience yet a while, 

 And I'll declare it streight. 

 At Orpington some bubbling spouts there rise, 

 No biger then the Pearls fall from our eyes, 

 (When some dear Friend is lately dead and gone, 

 At whose lamented obsequies we mourn) 

 While Multiplying more, in little way 

 They make a stream, that glides into the Sea. 

 So shallow every stone is plainly told, 

 Pactolus with her Glitring streams of Gold, 

 Can't shew such treasure, and what's more, 

 Ther's Trout s and Eeles a mighty store. 

 But to the purpose, how these Eeles are ta'ne, 



Requires some time as well as pain. 

 Thro' St. Mary Clay, the stream gently glides, 

 And runs by Foots-Cray and to North-Cray* 

 besides ; 



Where the sport begins, 

 When Heaven's so dark that nothing shines, 

 But its black Carmopy extending fair, 

 Throws an Eternal sable thro' the Air : 



* Major BugingSf at North-Cray. 



Then 



