176 ANGLING LITERATURE OF 



"Tis true, tho' small, a dozen of such fish 

 Might have been us'd for garnish round the dish. 

 But let me go, I've time 'twixt this and night, 

 To fill my bag with thumpers, if they'll bite. 

 Not that I'll be so proud to scorn the less, 

 The sporting fry the number will encrease. 

 For what we anglers murder, small or great, 

 We always count by dozens not by weight. 

 Now for a carp of eighteen inches long. 

 I'd shew him sport, I know my tackle's strong. 

 Ere now, with this same single hair and rod, 

 I've weigh' d a carp as big as any cod. 

 Hold, I believe I stretch a little there, 

 However, 'twas a monstrous fish I'll swear : 

 I'm sure it din'd full twenty men at least, 

 And was esteem' d a very sumptuous feast : 

 Nay, there was more than all the guests could eat, 

 But 'twas indeed help'd out with butcher's meat. 



Bless me ! How sweet does yonder skylark sing, 

 As up aloft she tow'rs upon the wing ? 

 The glories of the day delight her eyes, 

 And make her from the earth in triumph rise. 

 But now she to her utmost pitch is flown, 

 She stops her note, and drops in silence down. 

 So the proud fav'rite does at court rejoyce, 

 And as he rises makes a wondrous noise ; 

 But soaring higher than he ought to fly, 

 With broken wings he pitches from on high. 



How brisk and gay ! Adsheart my float is drown'd ; 

 Now for a fish that weighs at least a pound ; 



