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THE FISHERMAN; OR PERSIAN PARTNERSHIP.
Who has not, if he's fond of whim,
Laugh'd at crook'd Thornback's doleful trim ?
Seiz'd by that grim surveyor; The fright, on bearing him away, The terror, too, and sad dismay, Of that old grave purveyor.
A fish-bone, as we know, Was cause of all this woe, Choked and convulsed, now black, now pale, Lifeless he lay ; But Q. S. stay, I'll try to tell my tale.
Old Hassan to the finny race, With net and line, had given chase, In pools and weirs, For forty years, And near the Tigris dwelt; War waging 'gainst the scaly tribe, And could each season well describe Of Mongo fish, or smelt.
None better knew the gaudy fly, The bait to tempt the lesser fry,
Or when they'd bite; When to go trolling on the banks, Or when with net to thin their ranks,
His great delight.