36 f)e d&mtttl 



But to observe these Rusticks Tools, 

 The World might well pronounce them Fools , 

 Nay Fools in Grain, but still such luck most have, 

 As Fortune sends to those are Mad or Brave. 

 For with a Hook ty'd to a Pack-thread Line, 

 They'll take you, some times, twenty at a time ; 

 Their Rod, a Goad, or some such foolish thing, 

 A fit Companion for their home spun string, 

 Their bait, a worm that's large, in sunder Torn, 

 For little things these kind wise Acres Scorn, 

 They'd never Angle in the middle of the stream, 

 But near the Banck, 'mong bushes most extream, 

 And if the bushes hung them in their play, 

 Their Line was strong to bring them still away, 

 I oft have been Amaz'd to see 

 The very Boys grow wise, 

 At their Old Fathers great simplicity. 



One evening, Sol declining grown, 

 My tools packt up, and I returning home, 

 J chanc'd in shallow water spy 

 A Lusty well grown Jack to lye, 



So steady that you'd think 

 Him Dead to flote so near the brink ; 

 1 view'd him long, and wondred much to see 

 He'd make no motion, at my shade, nor me; 

 And, by ill Fortune, at that time 

 I had no Troul nor Trouling Line ; 



He 



