310 THE COMPLETE ANGLER. 



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. 



Man's life is but vain, 



For 't is subject to pain 



And sorrow, and short as a bubble ; 



'T is a hodgepodge of business, 



And money, and care ; 



But we '11 take no care 



When the weather proves fair, 



Nor will we vex 



Now, though it rain, 

 We '11 banish all sorrow, 

 And sing till to-morrow, 



And angle and angle again. 



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. 



VEN. And the repetition of these last verses of music 

 has called to my memory what Mr. Ed. Waller, a lover ol 

 the angle, says of love and music. 



