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SONGS, ETC. |
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A giddy young muscle just passed that way, And saw the end of the fatal affray ; He declared the lobster's love was sham, For he'd just seen her married that night to a clam.
Ri too ral, &c |
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ANGLING SONG.
Come rouse biother sportsman the. clock has struck
four, Let your tackle be stout, see of baits that you're store,
Worms, maggots, or flies, as the season turns out,
To tempt and to capture, pike perch, carp, or trout.
From Hockley, we down to the Furnace-pool stroll, At Benson's, or perhaps, at the slitting-mill troll : The lakes having scour'd, if indifferent our luck, We quit the Broadwaters and haste to the brook.
The morning is fair—serene the air,
The fields around look gay ;
South-west the wind—the fish you'll find,
Will freely bite this day.
And a fishing we will go.
O'er hedge and ditch, whilst huntsmen bound,
Alare, alare, they call ; The peaceful angler steps the ground
As soft as foot can fall.
And a fishing we will go.
Eight pounds a fish we pike ensnare,
Tho' sometimes break our line ; Then thiuk on such delicious fare,
How gloriously we dine.
And a fishing we will go. |
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