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For full half-a-crown's worth he took, And then charged a shilling for baits,
Which were all I found on my hook— And such sort of sport, Sir, / hates.
At length after nobbing and bobbing, In the best of all beautiful holes,
With my heart and my pulse all throbbing, Expecting some Turbot or Soles.
I caught what to me seemed a Sprat, But the punt-man called it a Bleak ;
And the devil a fish besides that
Chose to hang on my hook by his beak.
They talk'd about Barbel as big As my leg, and a precious deal bigger,
And assured me on some other day I should not cut so foolish a figure:
But the Bar-bell I found most annoying.
Was that which I rang for my bill ; As my time and my cash thus employing,
Did by no means agree with my will.
For when "The Angler" return'd. And fairly ensconed in the City,
My expenses were not to be spurn'd,
Though on paper they look'd very pretty.