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THE FISHERMAN'S SONG.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


184

THE FISHERMAN'S SONG.

Mankind are all Fish, and I'll lay you a bet
I prove that they all will come into the Net.
The Lawyer's a Shark; and they who in shoals
Run into his jaws must be Flats or poor Soals.
The Lobster's a Turncoat; the Sluggard a Snail;
The Curate a Shrimp, and the Vicar a Whale;
The Soldier's a Sword-fish; the Critic a Carp,
That delights in the mud, and, though wary, bites sharp.
The Heir is a Gold-fish, but turns to a Gull;
True Lovyers are Oysters, both silent and dull;
The Poets are Spawn, but are scarce worth a drag;
Young Misses are Mackarel, caught by red Rag:
Their Swains, though all sly Fish, full frequently feel
That a fair and fresh Mack'rel oft turns to an Eel.
A Rake's a Dorado, persisting and rude;
A Beauty's a Flying-fish, always pursued.—
Thus by hook or by crook they are all to be caught;
Nay, wise ones have said they are all to be bought;
Some at high, some at low, some at fair market price,
Not a farthing per pound, or a guinea a slice!
For Maids that are good, there's no price to be set,
But for those that won't keep, or will jump to the Net,

185

They're not worth the scales on the rump of a Dace,
Though Thousands are offer'd to catch a good Place.
And as for our Herrings, they're Fishes of Gold,
When in this good old Market each night they are sold.