128 FOURTEENTH TO THE 



On stream now, or still, 



A large pannier we'll 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 

 Bule 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. 



