98 The Complete Angler 



Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 

 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 

 Thy root is ever in its grave, 



And thou must die. 



Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 

 A box where sweets compacted lie ; 

 My music shews you have your closes, 

 And all must die. 



Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 

 Like season'd timber, never gives, 

 But when the whole world turns to coal, 

 Then chiefly lives. 



VENATOR. I thank you, good master, for your 

 good direction for fly-fishing, and for the sweet enjoy- 

 ment of the pleasant day, which is so far spent with- 

 out offence to God or man : and I thank you for 

 the sweet close of your discourse with Mr. Herbert's 

 verses ; who, I have heard, loved angling ; and I do 

 the rather believe it, because he had a spirit suitable 

 to anglers, and to those primitive Christians that 

 you love, and have so much commended. 



PlSCATOR. Well, my loving scholar, and I arn 

 pleased to know that you are so well pleased with 

 my direction and discourse. 



And since you like these verses of Mr. Herbert's 

 so well, let me tell you what a reverend and learned 

 divine that professes to imitate him, and has indeed 

 done so most excellently, hath writ of our book of 

 Common Prayer ; which I know you will like the 

 better, because he is a friend of mine, and I am sure 

 no enemy to angling. 



What I Pray'r by th' book ? and Common ? Yes ; Why not ? 



The spirit of grace 

 And supplication 

 Is not left free alone 



For time and place, 



But manner too : to read, or speak, by rote, 

 Is all alike to him that prays, 

 In's heart, what with his mouth he says. 



