LONDON ANGLER'S BOOK, 



He cock'd his hat and raised his crest, 

 He clenched his fist and smote his breast, 

 And swore he was the very best 

 Of Fishers there that morning. 



8. 



George came, though weighing 16 stone, 

 (He dearly loves his dog and gun) 

 To fish or shoot, he'd walk or run, 



At mid-day, night, or morning. 

 His corduroys fit him so tight, 

 In jolly hearts he takes delight, 

 Though Yorkshire, he's no Yorkshire bite 



When fishing in the morning. 



9. 



Crooks is English every inch, 



From fishing he will never flinch, 



He'll flourish his stick and turn a winch, 



To fight or fish in the morning. 

 He'll rig his pals* with noisy fun, 

 And from his grog he'll never run, 

 Till his face is as red as the rising Sun, 



When he goes out in the morning. 



* Companions. 



