68 THE PRACTICAL FISHERMAN. 



or two. It is entitled " The Cunning Carp and the Contented Knight.'" 

 " To the tune of St. George and the Dragon " : 



Within the wood a virgin ash 

 Had twenty summers seen. 

 The elves and fairies marked it oft, 



As they tripped it on the green ; 

 But the woodman cut it with his axe, 



He cruelly felled it down, 

 A rod to make for the Knight of the Lake, 



A Knight of no renown. 

 Turn and taper it round, turner, 



Turn and taper round. 

 For my line is of the grey p%lfrey's tail, 

 And it is slender and sound. 



St. George he was for England, 

 St. Dennis he was for France. 



St. Patrick taught the Irishman 

 To tune the merry harp. 



At the bottom of the slimy pool 

 There lurks a crafty carp ; 



Were he at the bottom of my line, 

 How mei rily he would dance. 



Moulded and mixed is the magic mass, 



The sun is below the hill ; 

 O'er the dark water flits the bat, 



Hoarse sounds the murm'ring rill ; 

 Slowly bends the willow's bough 



To the beetle's sullen tune; 

 And grim and red is the angry head 



Of the archer in the moon. 

 Softly, softly, spread the spell, 



Softly spread it around ; 

 But name not the magic mixture 



To mortal that breathes on ground. 

 St. George, &c. 



The Knight having risen at sunrise and duly arranged his tackle, begins* 

 to fish but the " magic mass " is ineffectual. 



The carp peeped out from his reedy bed, 



And forth he slyly crept ; 

 But he liked not the look, for he saw the black hook, 



So he turned his tail and slept. 

 There is a flower pruw^ in the field, 



They call it marigold-a, 

 And that which one fish would not take 



Another surely wold-a. 

 And the Knight had read in the books of the dead, 



So the Knight did not repine, 

 For they that cannot get carp, sir, 



On tench may very well dine. 



St. George, &c. 



But it was all of no use. The " sly tenant of the pool" was too old. 

 to be tempted into an indiscretion so flagrant. 



Then up spoke the lord of Penbury's board, 



Well skilled in musical lore, 

 And he swore by himself, though cunnin? the elf, 



He would charm him and draw him ashore. 

 The middle of day he chose for the play, 



And he fiddled as in went the line, 

 But the carp kept his head in tbe reedy bed, 



He chose not to dance nor to dine. 

 " I prithee come dance me a reel, carp, 



I prithee come dance me a reel." 

 " I thank you, my lord. I've no tart for your baard, 



You'd much better play to the eel." 

 St. George, &c. 



