FOURTEENTH TO THE 



To throw a line 



Into the Rhine 

 And catch a rosy salmon ; 



It is a feed, 



And sport indeed, 

 And certainly no gammon. 



Little Van Butter caught a fish for his supper, 



And drew it out of the sea ; 

 And with rod in his hand, like a wizard's wand, 



Again took out other three. 



Little Van Butter ran home to his mother, 

 Who call'd him a very good boy j 



So he ran in a trice, threw his line other thrice, 

 This fill'd the good- wife with great joy. 



The Zudder Zee is deep, 

 The line runs off the pirn ; 



The waves foam up and sweep, 

 My bait I can't discern. 



But soon I have a bite, 

 My rod begins to bend ; 



We struggle and we fight, 

 My tackle sure will rend I 



But soon the fish I see, 



Wrigling in the water j 

 It wishes to be free, 

 And makes a mighty splatter. 



