230 THE COMPLETE ANGLER. [PART L 



" Here are no entrapping baits 

 To hasten too, too hasty fates, 



Unless it be 



The fond credulity 



Of silly fish, which, worldling like, still look 

 Upon the bait, but never on the hook : 



Nor envy, 'less among 



The birds, for prize of their sweet song. 



** Go, let the diving negro seek 

 For gems hid in some forlorn creek : 



We all pearls scorn, 



Save what the dewy morn 

 Congeals upon each little spire of grass, 

 Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass : 



And gold ne'er here appears, 



Save what the yellow Ceres bears. 



" Blest silent groves ! O may you be 

 Forever mirth's best nursery 1 



May pure contents 



Forever pitch their tents 



Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, 

 And peace still slumber by these purling fountains : 



Which we may every year 



Meet when we come a-fishing here." 



Pise. Trust me, Scholar, I thank you heartily for these verses : 

 they be choicely good, and doubtless made by a lover of An- 

 gling. Come, now, drink a glass to me, and I will requite you 

 with another very good copy : it is a Farewell to the Vanities 

 of the World, and some say, written by Sir Harry Wotton, who 

 I told you was an excellent Angler. But let them be writ by 

 whom they will, he that writ them had a brave soul, and must 

 needs be possessed with happy thoughts at the time of their 

 composure. 



" Farewell, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles ! 

 Farewell, ye honored rags, ye glorious bubbles ! 

 Fame's but a hollow echo ; Gold, pure clay ; 

 Honor, the darling byt of one short day ; 



