University of Virginia Library

Tom Banks by native Industry was taught
The various Arts how Fishes might be caught.
Sometimes with trembling Reed and single Hair,
And Bait conceal'd, he'd for their Death prepare,
With melancholy Thoughts and downcast Eyes,
Expecting till Deceit had gain'd its Prize.
Sometimes in Riv'let quick and Water clear
They'd meet a Fate more generous from his Spear.
To Baskets oft he'd pliant Oziers turn,
Where they might Entrance find, but no Return.
His Net well pois'd with Lead he'd sometimes throw,
Encircling thus his Captives all below.
But when he would a quick Destruction make,
And from afar much larger Booty take,
He'd through the Stream, where most descending, set
From side to side his strong capacious Net;
And then his rustick Crew with mighty Poles
Would drive his Prey out from their owzy Holes,
And so pursue 'em down the rolling Flood,
Gasping for Breath, and almost choak'd with Mud,
'Till they, of farther Passage quite bereft,
Were in the Mash with Gills entangl'd left.
Trot, who liv'd down the Stream, ne'er thought his Beer
Was good, unless he had his Water clear;
He goes to Banks, and thus begins his Tale:
Lord! if you knew but how the People rail:
They cannot boil, nor wash, nor rense, they say,
With Water sometimes Ink and sometimes Whey,
According as you meet with Mud or Clay.
Besides, my Wife these six Months could not brew,
And now the Blame of this all's laid on you;
For it will be a dismal thing to think
How we old Trots must live and have no Drink:
Therefore I pray some other Method take
Of Fishing, were it only for our sake.
Says Banks, I'm sorry it should be my Lot
Ever to disoblige my Gossip Trot:
Yet 't'en't my Fault; but so 'tis Fortune tries one
To make his Meat become his Neighbour's Poison,
And so we pray for Winds upon this Coast,
By which on t'other Navies may be lost.
Therefore in patience rest, tho' I proceed:
There's no Ill-nature in the case, but Need.
Tho' for your Use this Water will not serve,
I'd rather you shou'd choke than I shou'd starve.