THE COMPLETE ANGLER. 67 



There stood my friend, with patient skill, 



Attending of his trembling quill ; 



Already were the eaves possess'd 



With the swift pilgrim's * daubed nest ; 



The groves already did rejoice 



In Philomel's triumphing voice ; 



The showers were snort, the weather mild, 



The morning fresh, the evening smiled. 



Joan takes her neat rubb'd pail, and now 



She trips to milk the sand-red cow ; 



Where, for some sturdy foot-ball swain, 



Joan strokes a syllabub or twain. 



The fields and gardens were beset 



With tulips, crocus, violet: 



And now, though late, the modest rose 



Did more than half a blush disclose. 



Thus all looks gay and full of cheer, 



To welcome the new-liveried year. 



These were the thoughts that then possessed the undis- 

 turbed mind of Sir Henry Wotton. Will you hear the wish 

 of another angler, and the commendation of his happy life, 

 which he also sings in verse ; namely, Jo. Davors, Esq. 



Let me live harmlessly ; and near the brink 



Of Trent or Avon have a dwelling place. 

 Where I may see my quill or cork down sink 



With eager bite of perch, or bleak, or dace ; 

 And on the world and my Creator think : 



WTiilst some men strive ill gotten goods t' embrace, 

 And others spend their time in base excess 

 Of wine, or worse, in war and wantonness. 



Let them that list, these pastimes still pursue, 

 And on such pleasing fancies feed their fill ; 



So I the fields and meadows green may view, 

 And daily by fresh rivers walk at will, 



Among the daisies and the violets blue, 

 Red hyacinth, and yellow daffodil, 



Purple narcissus like the morning rays, 



Pale gander-grass, and azure culver-keys. 



I count it higher pleasure to behold 



The stately compass of the lofty sky; 

 And in the midst thereof, like burning gold, 



The flaming chariot of the world's great eye ; 

 The watery clouds that, in the air up-roll'd, 



With sundry kinds of painted colours fly j 

 And fair Aurora, lifting up her head, 

 Still blushing, rise from old Tithonus* bed. 



The hills and mountains raised from the plains, 

 The plains extended level with the ground ; 



The grounds divided into sundry veins, 

 The veins enclosed with rivers running round ; 



These rivers making way through nature's chains 

 With headlong course into the sea profound ; 



The raging sea, oeneath the valleys low, 



Where lakes and rills and rivulets do flow. 



* The swallow. 



