COMMENDATORY VERSES. 75 



An obvious rod, a twist of hair, 

 With hook hid in an insect, are 

 Engines of sport would fit the wish 

 O' th' Epicure, and fill his dish. 



In this clear stream, let fall a grub ; 

 And, strait, take up a Dace or Chub. 

 I' th' mud, your worm provokes a snig; 

 Which being fast, if it prove big, 

 The Gotham folly will be found 

 Discreet, ere ta'en she must be drown'd. 

 The Tench, physician of the brook, 

 In yon dead hole expects your hook ; 

 Which having first your pastime been, 

 Serves then for meat or medicine. 

 Ambush'd behind that root doth stay 

 A Pike; to catch and be a prey. 

 The treacherous quill in this slow stream 

 Betrays the hunger of a Bream. 

 And at that nimble ford, no doubt, 

 Your false fly cheats a speckled Trout. 



When you these creatures wisely chuse 

 To practise on, which to your use 

 Owe their creation, and when 

 Fish from your arts do rescue men, 

 To plot, delude, and circumvent, 

 Ensnare and spoil, is innocent. 

 Here by these crystal streams you may 

 Preserve a conscience clear as they ; 

 And when by sullen thoughts you find 

 Your harrassed, not busied, mind 

 In sable melancholy clad, 

 Distemper'd, serious, turning sad ; 

 Hence fetch your cure, cast in your bait, 

 All anxious thoughts and cares will strait 

 Fly with such speed, they'll seem to be 

 Possest with the Hydrophobie. 

 The water's calmness in your breast, 

 And smoothness on your brow shall rest. 

 Away with sports of charge and noise, 

 And give me cheap and silent joys. 



