chap, iv.] THE COMPLETE ANGLER. 81 



Mother. Well, I have done my song. But stay, 

 honest Anglers, for I will make Maudlin to sing you 

 one short song more. Maudlin, sing that song that 

 you sung last night, when young Coridon the Shep- 

 herd played so purely on his oaten-pipe to you and 

 your Cousin Retty. 



Maud. I will, Mother. 



/ married a Wife of late, 

 The more's my unhappy fate : 



I married her for love, 



As my fancy did me move, 

 And not for a worldly estate : 



But Oh ! the green-sickness 

 Soon changed her likeness ; 

 And all her beauty did fail. 

 But 'tis not so, 

 With those that go, 

 Through frost and snow, 

 As all men know, 

 And carry the milking -pail. 



Pise. Well sung ! Good woman ; I thank you. 

 I'll give you another dish of fish one of these days ; 

 and then beg another song of you. Come, Scholar, 

 let Maudlin alone : do not you offer to spoil her 

 voice. Look ! yonder comes mine Hostess, to call 

 us to supper. How now ! is my Brother Peter 

 come ? 



G 



