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So thick, and in such clouds arose, Like cobwebs it hung on our clothes, None saw an inch before their nose, As we went out an angling.
With rod and line, Sec.
Disasters still did follow nigh,
For, as we cross'd o'er Peckliain-Rye.
Bob poked his rod in Bill Smith's eye,
As we went out an angling. At length, so dreadful came the fog, Poor Muggins fell into the bog, His rod was lost, and ah ! his dog, Was found as dead's a wooden log ; When he again on dry ground stood, We laughed, though forced to chew the cud, To see his mouth stuffed full of mud,
Though going out an angling.
With rod and line, &c.
We halted just about day-break,
As all our legs began to ache,
And thought we would some breakfast take
Ere we began to angle ; Upon a stile, then, nicely moor'd, We had of meat a perfect hoard, The gin and water we had stored, Into our tumblers then we poured ;