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SONGS, ETC. |
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Here's a sigh for the anglers afar, A welcome to those that are here ;
A health to the whole, who, in spirit and soul, Are friends to the rod and the spear !
Then hurrah for the rod, &c. |
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ON A YOUNG LADY
OF THE NAME OF WHITING.
Sure Whiting is no fasti?ig Dish, Let priests say what they dare ;
I'd rather have my dainty Fish, Than all their Christmas fare.
So sweet, so innocent, so free,
From all that tends to strife ; O ! happy man ! whose lot shall be
To swim with her through life.
Whatever Bait, love e'er could make.
To catch my fish I'd try; I'd be a gentle for her sake,
Or artificial fly.
But Venus, goddess of the flood
Does all my pray'rs deny, And surely Mars cries, save your blood—
You've other fish to fry.
AN OFFICER. |
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