194 THE COMPLETE ANGLER. 



in which you shall see the picture of this good man's mind, 

 and I wish mine to be like it.* 



No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright ; 

 No begging wants his middle fortune bite : 

 But sweet content exiles both misery and spite. 



His certain life, that never can deceive him, 

 Is full of thousand sweets and rich content ; 



The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him, 

 With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent. 



His life is neither toss'd in boisterous seas 



Or the vexatious world, or lost in slothful ease ; 

 Pleased and full bless' d he lives, when he his God can please. 



His bed, more safe than soft, yields quiet sleeps, 

 "While by his side his faithful spouse hath place ; 



His little son into his bosom creeps, 

 The lively picture of his father's face ; 



His humble house or poor state ne'er torment him 



Less he could like, if less his God had lent him ; 

 And when he dies, green turfs do for a tomb content him. 



Gentlemen, these were a part of the thoughts that then 

 possessed me. And I here made a conversion of a piece of an 

 old catch, and added more to it, fitting them to be sung by 

 anglers. Come, master, you can sing well ; you must sing a 

 part of it as it is in this paper. 



PETER. Ay marry, sir, this is music indeed; this has 

 cheered my heart, and made me to remember six verses in 

 praise of music, which I will speak to you instantly. 



Music ! miraculous rhetoric, that speakest sense 



Without a tongue, excelling eloquence ; 



With what ease might thy errors be excused, 



Wert thou as truly loved as thou'rt abused ! 



But though dull souls neglect, and some reprove thee, 



I cannot hate thee, 'cause the angels love thee. 



YEN. And the repetition of these last verses of music has 

 called to my memory what Mr. Ed. Waller,t a lover of the 

 angle, says of love and music. 



* It would be great injustice to the memory of this person, whose name is 

 now hardly known, to pass him by without notice. He was the son of Giles 

 Fletcher, doctor of laws, and ambassador from Queen Elizabeth to the Duke of 

 Muscovy ; a fellow of King's College, Cambridge, and the author of a fine alle- 

 gorical poem, intitled, " The Purple Island," printed at Cambridge, with other 

 of his poems, in 4to. 1633 ; from whence the passage in the text, with a little 

 variation, is taken. H. 



t As the author's concern for the honour of angling induced him to enume- 

 rate such persons of note as were lovers of that recreation, the reader will allow 

 me to add Mr. John Gay to the number. Any one who reads the first cauto 



