The Fifth Day 211 



And so, Master, here is a full glass to you of that 

 liquor : and when you have pledged me, I will re- 

 peat the Verses which I promised you : it is a Copy 

 printed among some of Sir Henry Wotton's, and 

 doubtless made either by him, or by a lover of 

 angling. Come, Master, now drink a glass to me, 

 and then I will pledge you, and fall to my repeti- 

 tion ; it is a description of such country recreations 

 as I have enjoyed since I had the happiness to fall 

 into your company. 



Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares, 

 Anxious sighs, untimely tears, 



Fly, fly to courts, 



Fly to fond worldlings' sports, 

 Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glosing still, 

 And Grief is forc'd to laugh against her will : 



Where mirth's but mummery, 



And sorrows only real be. 



Fly from our country pastimes, fly, 

 Sad troops of human misery. 



Come, serene looks, 



Clear as the crystal brooks, 

 Or the pure azur'd heaven that smiles to see 

 The rich attendance of our poverty : 



Peace and a secure mind, 



Which all men seek, we only find. 



Abused mortals ! did you know 



Where joy, heart's-ease, and comforts grow, 



You'd scorn proud towers, 



And seek them in these bowers ; 



Where winds, sometimes, our woods perhaps may shake, 

 But blust'ring care could never tempest make, 



Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 



Saving of fountains that glide by us. 



Here's no fantastick mask, nor dance, 

 But of our kids that frisk and prance ; 



Nor wars are seen 



Unless upon the green 



Two harmless lambs are butting one the other, 

 Which done, both bleating run, each to his mother 



And wounds are never found, 



Save what the plough-share gives the ground. 



