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SONGS, ETC. |
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With wilier malice nets and twist To perfect thy undoing, But all those dangers hast thou miss'd, True to thy destin'd ruin !
Sure no inglorious death is thine ! Death said I ? Thou'lt ne'er die, But swim upon a Poet's line Down to Eternity,— While, on our board, we'll all allow, O ! odd Fish bright and sheen! A prime Contributor art thou To Blackwood's Magazine. |
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ANGLING.
You see the ways the fisherman doth take To catch the fish: what engines doth he make ? Behold ! how he engageth all his wits ; Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks and nets: Yet fish there be, that neither hook nor line, Nor snare, nor net, nor engine can make thine : They must be gropped fur, and be tickled t6o, Or they will not be catch'd whate'er you do.
John Bun^ v\ |
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