 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
76
The Angler's Ballad.
I
Away to the Brook,All your Tackle out look,
Here's a day that is worth a year's wishing;
See that all things be right,
For 'tis a very spight
To want tools when a man goes a fishing.
II
Your Rod with tops two,For the same will not doe
If your manner of angling you vary;
And full well you may think,
If you troll with a Pink,
One too weak will be apt to miscarry.
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III
Then Basket, neat madeBy a Master in's trade,
In a belt at your shoulders must dangle;
For none e'er was so vain
To wear this to disdain,
Who a true Brother was of the Angle.
IV
Next, Pouch must not fail,Stuff'd as full as a Mail,
With Wax, Cruels, Silks, Hair, Furs and Feathers,
To make several Flies
For the several Skies,
That shall kill in despight of all weathers.
V
The Boxes and BooksFor your Lines and your Hooks,
And, though not for strict need notwithstanding,
Your Scissors, and your Hone
To adjust your points on,
With a Net to be sure for your landing.
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VI
All these being on,'Tis high time we were gone,
Down, and upward, that all may have pleasure;
Till, here meeting at night,
We shall have the delight
To discourse of our Fortunes at leisure.
VII
The day's not too bright,And the wind hits us right,
And all Nature does seem to invite us;
We have all things at will
For to second our skill,
As they all did conspire to delight us.
VIII
Or stream now, or still,A large Panier will fill,
Trout and Grailing to rise are so willing;
I dare venture to say
'Twill be a bloudy day,
And we all shall be weary of killing.
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IX
Away then, away,We loose sport by delay,
But first leave all our sorrows behind us;
If misfortune doe come,
We are all gone from home,
And a fishing she never can find us.
X
The Angler is freeFrom the cares that degree
Finds it self with so often tormented;
And although we should slay
Each a hundred to day,
'Tis a slaughter needs ne'er be repented.
XI
And though we displayAll our Arts to betray
What were made for man's Pleasure and Diet;
Yet both Princes and States
May, for all our quaint Bates,
Rule themselves and their People in quiet.
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XII
We scratch not our pates,Nor repine at the Rates
Our Superiors impose on our living;
But do frankly submit,
Knowing they have more wit
In demanding, than we have in giving.
XIII
Whilst quiet we sitWe conclude all things fit,
Acquiescing with hearty submission;
For, though simple, we know
That soft murmurs will grow
At the last unto down-right Sedition.
XIV
We care not who says,And intends it dispraise,
That an Angler t'a Fool is next neighbour;
Let him prate, what care we,
We're as honest as he,
And so let him take that for his labour.
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XV
We covet no WealthBut the Blessing of Health,
And that greater good Conscience within;
Such Devotion we bring
To our God and our King,
That from either no offers can win.
XVI
Whilst we sit and fishWe do pray as we wish,
For long life to our King James the Second;
Honest Anglers then may,
Or they've very foul play,
With the best of good Subjects be reckon'd.
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