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Nor head the dull fanatic thing, Whose errors often points a sting.
Of fraud, disguise, and art.
Thus fares the angler day by day
Throughout the rolling year, While knaves, like rotten fruit decay,
Nor claim a parting tear ; Then let us praise the angler's life,
And thus in chorus sing ; May anglers ever 'scape from strife,
Nor feel oppression's sting ; And may the lively girls they wed, Ne'er dishonour board or bed,
With peasant, prince, or king.
Hark ! anglers of the North, Come let us fish and sing,
To Bacchus and Appollo, Now your offering bring.
Jollv Bacchus does invite us;
Mirth and humour do unite us ;
Angling songs will merry make us ;
Melancholy will forsake us.