46 C!K dUntert i&ecreatfon* 



No Scriviner makes his will, 'tis known to all 

 That commonly the weakest goes to th' wall. 

 Directly 'gainst the stream he bears his head, 

 Stones are his Pillow, Sand his Down'y Bed; 

 And Company he loves, for seldom he's alone: 

 Paternal cares belong to every one. 



Angler, if you his haunts would know, 

 Observe the stream, and how the Currents go, 

 In gentle numbers, or most rapid flow, 

 The gentle still belongs unto your care, 

 For there they'll swarm, and recompence you 



fair, 



If but one Inch, or rather on the ground, 

 Your Bradlmg tail, as you the water sound; 

 For he'll ne'er rise, try all the Art you can, 

 To take a bait that's from the ground a span. 

 A Bradling, that his chiefest Love, 

 A Gentle, sometimes will him move. 

 So will the Straw-worm, from his house drawn 



clear, 



Shew you the pleasure that in Rivers are. 

 A pliant Rod, 

 No sturdy Goad, 

 That Rustick People use, 

 Gives more delight, 

 When Gudgeons bite, 

 Then all their vain Ostentious shews. 



A 



