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130 SONGS, ETC.
BARBEL FISHING IN THE THAMES.
Broader rivers please us then,
Where the voice of watermen,
And bargemen eke, we often hear,
(As they laugh and joke,—or swear,)
Sounding long from the shore,
As they ply the dripping oar ;
The river that we have in view,
Is Thames, from Windsor down to Kew.
How pleasant in a dog-day sun,
When all on land looks dry and dun,
To spend the day upon the river,
On whose banks the osiers quiver ;
In a punt for barbel fishing,
(Or anything not worth the dishing,)
With a merry companie,
Not more than nine or less than three.
How quick the cheerful hours do pass,
How quickly circulates the glass !
Ere Phoebus half his course has run,
The Sherry's out, the Veal pie done ;
But still there's bread and cheese, and brandy,
And plenty of cold water handy ;
And stout galore ; cigars abound—
The box at morn contained a pound. |
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