54 CDe <&mtttl 



Besides the Gentle and the Fly, 

 The Roaches bait I'd wish you try, 

 And let experience tell you then, 

 Vain Glory ne'er becomes a Fisher-man. 

 How often on a lofty bridge I've stood, 



Whose Arches stop't the raging floud. 

 When Sun was hot, the water most serene, 

 And all the fry therein most plainly seen, 

 While I, absconded by that Lofty bight, 

 Exceeding pleasure reap't, and pure delight: 

 For while my Flys, drove gently with the stream, 

 The mounting Bleaks would still admire at 



them, 



Then with a sudden spring, new Joys to try, 

 They fall a victime, and lamenting die. 

 Sing next the trouble of the Angling Hod, 

 The little Menoiv, and his blind abode, 

 That enemy to Angling, when he bites 

 Destroys our baits, and robs of our cheif delights, 

 How to avoid him well we can not tell, 

 In every place in ev'ry hole he'll dwell. 

 Confounded Caitif, who can him avoid 

 If near the ground, except a Load 

 Of worms adorn your hook, yet then 

 He'll nible and do all that e'er he can 

 To raise your Passion, yet you must not swear, 

 For frighting other Fishes that are near. 



All 



