OF NOTHING. 



If the sun's excessive heat 

 Make our bodies swelter, 

 To an osier hedge we get 

 For a friendly shelter ; 



Where in a dike, 



Perch or pike, 



Roach or dace, 



We do chase ; 



Bleak or gudgeon, 



Without grudging ; 

 We are still contented. 



Or we sometimes pass an hour 



Under a green willow, 

 That defends us from a shower 

 Making earth our pillow : 

 Where we may 

 Think and pray, 

 Before death 

 Stops our breath : 

 Other joys 

 Are but toys, 

 And to be lamented. Jo. CHALKHILL. 



VEN. Well sung, master: this day's fortune and pleasure, 

 and this night's company and song, do all make me more 

 and more in love with angling. Gentlemen, my master left 

 me alone for an hour this day; and I verily believe he 

 retired himself from talking with me, that he might be so 

 perfect in this song : was it not, master ? 



PlSC. Yes indeed ; for it is many years since I learned it, 

 and having forgotten a part of it, I was forced to patch it 

 up by the help of mine own invention, who am not excellent 

 at poetry, as my part of the song may testify : but of that 

 I will say no more, lest you should think I mean by discom- 

 mending it to beg your commendations of it. And therefore, 



20- -2 



