| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
ON ANGLING. ()J
OLD MATTERS.
The day is clear, the wind is fair,
I very much incline, As I'm a dab, to have a fish
Upon the Serpentine.
Here's Master Tait, he tries with bait—
He cannot throw a line ; While I know every artful dodge
To fish the Serpentine.
I hate the sight of Mr Tait ;
He is no friend of mine, He used me once surprising ill,
Upon the Serpentine.
For in the tete, of Mr Tait,
There harbour'd a design To hook my line, and break my rod,
Upon the Serpentine.
He threw in here, and threw in there,
And struck against my line ; Which cut—quite cut me to the hear)
Upon the Serpentine.
If such in future be my lot,
My rod I will resign, With firm resolve will seal iny fate,
All in the Serpentine.
F |
||