EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 127 



Then basket, neat made 



By a master in's trade, 

 In a belt at your shoulders must dangle j 



For none e'er was so vain 



To wear this to disdain 

 Who a true brother was of the angle. 



Next pouch must not fail, 



Stuff" d as full as a mail, 

 With wax, crewels, silks, hair, furs, and feathers, 



To make several flies, 



For the several skies, 

 That shall kill in despite of all weathers. 



The boxes and books 



For your lines and your hooks 5 

 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 . 



