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•it) SONGS, ETC.
Now, now, 'tis out, 'tis full at strain,
I fear t'will scarcely stand; The topmast joint is bent in twain.
It shakes my nervous hand ;
It slackens now, he's tired out,
I wind my well tried reel,
And gently strain
My line again,
Till trouty's strength I feel.
I then let out, again I wind, I give Brown speckles play,
I draw him near, I have him clear. Whoo ! crack, he's off, away,
I draw his head above the flood, I check by this his breath, I quickly get My landing net, To bear him to his death.
Great Izaak Walton ne'er was sure, That king of rod and fly,
He could not say he'd won the day, Then surely how could I ?
Off, off, he flies the line won't bear : My tackle rudely torn ; So I return Across the bourne, Quite humble and forlorn. |
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