The Angler hath a jolly life
Who by the rail runs down,
And leaves his business and his wife,
And all the din of town.
The wind down stream is blowing straight,
And nowhere cast can he;
Then lo, he doth but sit and wait
In kindly company.
Or else men turn the water off,
Or folk be cutting weed,
While he doth at misfortune scoff,
From every trouble freed.
Or else he waiteth for a rise,
And ne'er a rise may see;
For why, there are not any flies
To bear him company.
Or, if he mark a rising trout,
He straightway is caught up,
And then he takes his flasket out,
And drinks a rousing cup.
Or if a trout he chance to hook,
Weeded and broke is he,
And then he finds a goodly book
Instructive company.
What think you of my song, Scholar? 'Tis choicely musical. What, he is
gone! A pest on those Northerners; they have no manners. Now, methinks
I do remember a trout called George, a heavy fellow that lies ever under
the arch of yonder bridge, where there is shelter from the wind. Ho for
George!
[Exit singing.