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ON ANGLING. 203
LINES ASCRIBED BY WALTON TO SIR HENRY WOTTON.
This day dame Nature seem'd in love,
The lusty sap began to move,
Fresh juice did stir thr embracing vines,
And birds had drawn their valentines,
The jealous trout, that low did lie,
Rose at a well dissembled fly ;
There stood my friend, with pat:ent skill,
Attending of his trembling quill ;
Already were the eaves possess'd
\\ ith the swift pilgrim's daubed nest;
The groves already did rejoice
In Philomel's triumphing voice ;
The showers were short, the weather mild,
The morning fresh, the evening smiled.
Joan takes her neat rubb'd pail, and now She trips to milk the sand-red cow; Where, for some sturdy foot-ball swain, Joan strokes a syllabub <>r twain. The fields and gardens were beset With tulips, crocus, violet : And now, though late, the modest rose Did more than half a blush disclose. Tims all looks gay and full of cheer, To welcome the new-liveried year.