Piscator, Venator, Peter, Coridon
Piscator. My purpose was to give you some directions concerning ROACH
and DACE, and some other inferior fish which make the angler excellent
sport; for you know there is more pleasure in hunting the hare than in
eating her: but I will forbear, at this time, to say any more, because
you see yonder come our brother Peter and honest Coridon. But I will
promise you, that as you and I fish and walk to-morrow towards London,
if I have now forgotten anything that I can then remember, I will not
keep it from you.
Well met, gentlemen; this is lucky that we meet so just together at this
very door, Come, hostess, where are you? is supper ready? Come, first
give us a drink; and be as quick as you can, for I believe we are all
very hungry. Well, brother Peter and Coridon, to you both! Come, drink:
and then tell me what luck of fish: we two have caught but ten bouts, of
which my scholar caught three. Look! here's eight; and a brace we gave
away. We have had a most pleasant day for fishing and talking, and are
returned home both weary and hungry; and now meat and rest will be
pleasant.
Peter. And Coridon and I have not had an unpleasant day: and yet I have
caught but five bouts; for, indeed, we went to a good honest ale-house,
and there we played at shovel-board half the day; all the time that it
rained we were there, and as merry as they that fished. And I am glad we
are now with a dry house over our heads; for, hark! how it rains and
blows. Come, hostess, give us more ale, and our supper with what haste
you may: and when we have supped, let us have your song, Piscator; and
the catch that your scholar promised us; or else, Coridon will be
dogged.
Piscator. Nay, I will not be worse than my word; you shall not want my
song, and I hope I shall be perfect in it.
Venator. And I hope the like for my catch, which I have ready too: and
therefore let's go merrily to supper, and then have a gentle touch at
singing and drinking; but the last with moderation.
Coridon. Come, now for your song; for we have fed heartily. Come,
hostess, lay a few more sticks on the fire. And now, sing when you will.
Piscator. Well then, here s to you, Coridon; and now for my song.
O the gallant Fisher's life,
It is the best of any;
'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife,
And 'tis beloved of many:
Other joys
Are but toys;
Only this
Lawful is;
For our skill
Breeds no ill,
But content and pleasure.
In a morning up we rise
Ere Aurora's peeping,
Drink a cup to wash our eyes.
Leave the sluggard sleeping;
Then we go
To and fro,
With our knacks
At our backs
To such streams
As the Thames
If we have the leisure.
When we please to walk abroad
For our recreation,
In the fields is our abode,
Full of delectation:
Where in a brook
With a hook
Or a lake
Fish we take:
There we sit
For a bit,
Till we fish entangle.
We have gentles in a horn,
We have paste and worms too
We can watch both night and morn,
Suffer rain and storms too;
None do here
Use to swear;
Oaths do fray
Fish away;
We sit still,
And watch our quill
Fishers must not wrangle.
If the sun's excessive heat
Make our bodies swelter,
To an osier hedge we get
For a friendly shelter
Where, in a dike,
Perch or Pike
Roach or Dace
We do chase Bleak or Gudgeon,
Without grudging
We are still contented.
Or we sometimes pass an hour
Under a green willow,
That defends us from a shower,
Making earth our pillow;
Where we may
Think and pray
Before death
Stops our breath.
Other joys
Are but toys,
And to be lamented.
Jo. Chalkhill.
Venator. Well sung, master; this day's fortune and pleasure, and the
night's company and song, do all make me more and more in love with
angling. Gentlemen, my master left me alone for an hour this day; and I
verily believe he retired himself from talking with me that he might be
so perfect in this song; was it not, master?
Piscator. Yes indeed, for it is many years since I learned it; and
having forgotten a part of it, I was forced to patch it up with the help
of mine own invention, who am not excellent at poetry, as my part of the
song may testify; but of that I will say no more, lest you should think
I mean, by discommending it, to beg your commendations of it. And
therefore, without replications, let's hear your catch, scholar; which I
hope will be a good one, for you are both musical and have a good fancy
to boot.
Venator. Marry, and that you shall; and as freely as I would have my
honest master tell me some more secrets of fish and fishing, as we walk
and fish towards London to-morrow. But, master, first let me tell you,
that very hour which you were absent from me, I sat down under a
willow-tree by the water-side, and considered what you had told me of
the owner of that pleasant meadow in which you then left me; that he had
a plentiful estate, and not a heart to think so; that he had at this
time many law-suits depending; and that they both damped his mirth, and
took up so much of his time and thoughts, that he himself had not
leisure to take the sweet content that I, who pretended no title to
them, took in his fields: for I could there sit quietly; and looking on
the water, see some fishes sport themselves in the silver streams,
others leaping at flies of several shapes and colours; looking on the
hills, I could behold them spotted with woods and groves; looking down
the meadows, could see, here a boy gathering lilies and lady-smocks, and
there a girl cropping culverkeys and cowslips, all to make garlands
suitable to this present month of May: these, and many other field
flowers, so perfumed the air, that I thought that very meadow like that
field in Sicily of which Diodorus speaks, where the perfumes arising
from the place make all dogs that hunt in it to fall off, and to lose
their hottest scent I say, as I thus sat, joying in my own happy
condition, and pitying this poor rich man that owned this and many other
pleasant groves and meadows about me, I did thankfully remember what my
Saviour said, that the meek possess the earth; or rather, they enjoy
what the others possess, and enjoy not; for anglers and meek
quiet-spirited men are free from those high, those restless thoughts,
which corrode the sweets of life; and they, and they only, can say, as
the poet has happily express it,
Hail! blest estate of lowliness;
Happy enjoyments of such minds
As, rich in self-contentedness,
Can, like the reeds, in roughest winds,
By yielding make that blow but small
At which proud oaks and cedars fall.
There came also into my mind at that time certain verses in praise of a
mean estate and humble mind: they were written by Phineas Fletcher, an
excellent divine, and an excellent angler; and the author of excellent
Piscatory Eclogues, in which you shall see the picture of this good
man's mind: and I wish mine to be like it.
No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright;
No begging wants his middle fortune bite:
But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.
His certain life, that never can deceive him,
Is full of thousand sweets and rich content
The smooth-leav'd beeches in the field receive him,
With coolest shade, till noon-tide's heat be spent.
His life is neither tost in boisterous, seas,
Or the vexatious world, or lost in slothful ease;
Please and full blest he lives when he his God can please.
His bed, more safe than soft, yields quiet sleeps,
While by his side his faithful spouse teas place
His little son into his bosom creeps,
The lively picture of his father's face.
His humble house or poor state ne'er torment him
Less he could like, if less his God had lent him;
And when he dies, green turfs do for a tomb content him,
Gentlemen, these were a part of the thoughts that then possessed me. And
I there made a conversion of a piece of an old catch, and added more to
it, fitting them to be sung by us anglers. Come, Master, you can sing
well: you must sing a part of it, as it is in this paper.
Man's life is but vain, for 'tis subject to pain,
And sorrow, and short as a bubble;
'Tis a hodge-podge of business, and money, and care,
And care, and money, and trouble.
But we'll take no care when the weather proves fair;
Nor will we vex now though it rain;
We'll banish all sorrow, and sing till to-morrow,
And angle, and angle again.
Peter. I marry, Sir, this is musick indeed; this has cheer'd my heart,
and made me remember six verses in praise of musick, which I will speak
to you instantly.
Musick! miraculous rhetorick, thou speak'st sense
Without a tongue, excelling eloquence;
With what ease might thy errors be excus'd,
Wert thou as truly lov'd as th' art abus'd!
But though dull souls neglect, and some reprove thee,
I cannot hate thee, 'cause the Angels love thee.
Venator. And the repetition of these last verses of musick has called to
my memory what Mr. Edmund Waller, a lover of the angle, says of love and
musick.
Whilst I listen to thy voice,
Chloris! I feel my heart decay
That powerful voice
Calls my fleeting soul away:
Oh! suppress that magic sound,
Which destroys without a wound.
Peace, Chloris! peace, or singing die,
That together you and I
To heaven may go;
For all we know
Of what the blessed do above
Is, that they sing, and that they love.
Piscator. Well remembered, brother Peter; these verses came seasonably,
and we thank you heartily. Come, we will all join together, my host and
all, and sing my scholar's catch over again; and then each man drink the
tother cup, and to bed; and thank God we have a dry house over our
heads.
Piscator. Well, now, good-night to everybody. Peter. And so say I.
Venator. And so say I.
Coridon. Good-night to you all; and I thank you.
The FIFTH day.
Piscator. Good-morrow, brother Peter, and the like to you, honest
Coridon.
Come, my hostess says there is seven shillings to pay: let's each man
drink a pot for his morning's draught, and lay down his two shillings,
so that my hostess may not have occasion to repent herself of being so
diligent, and using us so kindly.
Peter. The motion is liked by everybody, and so, hostess, here's your
money: we anglers are all beholden to you; it will not be long ere I'll
see you again; and now, brother Piscator, I wish you, and my brother
your scholar, a fair day and good fortune. Come, Coridon, this is our
way.
The FIFTH day-continued
Of Roack and Dace