OR WALTONIAN CHRONICLE. 99 



7. 



Sam put his thumb upon his nose, 

 Saying you're a Saint now I suppose, 

 Find somewhere else to pitch your gammon, 

 You'll get no good with Samuel Salmon. 

 Wet, &c. 



8. 



The day grew hot the fish grew shy, 

 So Samuel put his tackle by, 

 Into the shade he did retreat, 

 To enjoy his meal of bread and meat. 

 Wet, &c. 



Refresh'd again did Samuel rove, 

 Along the mead into the grove, 

 Each plant and shrub he did admire, 

 The drooping fox-glove and the brier. 

 Wet, &c. 



10. 



Their beauties he did contemplate, 

 And thought that natures works were great, 

 When through a parting in a bush, 

 He saw what almost made him blush. 

 Wet, &c. 



5 



