178 THE COMPLETE ANGLER. 



Venator. Well sung, master ! this day's fortune and pleasure, 

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

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



The boxes and books 



For your lines and your hooks ; 

 And, though not for strict need notwithstanding. 



Your scissars and hone 



To adjust your points on, 

 With a net to be sure of your landing. 



All these being on, 



'Tis high time we were gone, 

 Down and upward, that all may have pleasure, 



Till, here meeting at night, 



We shall have the delight 

 To discourse of our fortunes at leisure. 



The day 's not too bright, 



And the wind hits us right 

 And all nature does seem to invite us 



We have all things at will 



For to second our skill, 

 As they all did conspire to delight us. 



On stream now, or still, 



A large pannier we '11 fill, 

 Trout and Grayling to rise are so willing ; 



I dare venture to say, 



'Twill be a bloody day, 

 And we all shall be weary of killing. 



Away, then, away, 



We lose sport by delay ; 

 But first, leave our sorrows behind us : 



If Miss Fortune should come, 



We are all gone from home, 

 And a-fishing she never can find us. 



The angler is free 



From the cares that degree 

 Finds itself with, so often, tormented ; 



And although we should slay 



Each a hundred a-day, 

 'Tis a slaughter needs ne'er be repented. 



And though we display 



All our arts to betray 

 What were made for man's pleasure and diet. 



Yet both princes and states 



May for all our quaint baits, 

 Rule themselves and their people in quiet. 



We scratch not our pates, 



Nor repine at the rates 

 Our superiors impose on our living ; 



But do frankly submit, 



Knowing they have more wit 

 In demanding than we have in giving. 



While quiet we sit, 



We conclude all things fit, 

 Acquiescing with hearty submission : 



For, though simple, we know 



That soft murmurs will grow 

 At the last, unto downright sedition. 



We care not who says, 



And intends it dispraise, 

 That an angler to a fool is next neighbour : 



Let him prate what care we ? 



We 're as honest as he ; 

 And so let him take that for his labour 



