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16(5 SONGS, ETO-
Wlien the sun is shining low, From our easy sport we go,
Our kettle full of fish ; And, having thought, the golden day. Through the meads we take our way,
In haste to dress our fish.
Whether it barbel be, or pike, Or trout> or silver eel belike,
Or perch, or grazling free ; Or bream, or carp, or tench, or bleak, Or gudgeons, that in fords we seek,
Or roach, or dace it be.
A cup well stirr'd with rosemary, A health to Madge, too, pledged free,
A sorg of harmless love ; Sheets neatly kept in lavender May, each day of the calender,
These simple blessings prove.
If patience be a virtue, then How happy are we fishermen? For all do know that those that fish Have patience more than heart ean wish. 1692.