OR WALTONIAN CHRONICLE. 39 



I've miss'd him, but I think my bait 



Was not fix'd exactly right. 



The deuce a bite, says Chub, have I 



Perceived to move my line, 



I feel quite faint, so fisherman 



Give me a glass of wine. 



WithroJ, &c. 



8. 



Another and another glass 



Chub took, and then he took a snack, 



And when the sun grew warm above, 



He took a little nap. 



The moment that his eye lids clos'd, 



The man cried, strike, Sir, strike ; 



Chub woke, and in a pucker struck, 



You never saw the like. 



With rod, &c. 



9. 



His bait renew 'd, he tried again, 



But 'twas in vain for him to try ; 



And thirsty Chub requested Joe 



To hand a glass, for he was dry ; 



And then he dozed, which Joe perceived, 



Called aloud, a bite again, 



Chub woke, and struck, but as before 



His striking was in vain. 



With rod, &c. 



