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The fourth day- continued
Is of nothing, or of nothing worth
Chapter XVI
Piscator, Venator, Peter, Coridon
Piscator. My purpose was to give you
some directions concerning ROACH and DACE, and
some other inferior fish which make the angler
excellent sport; for you know there is more
pleasure in hunting the hare than in eating
her: but I will forbear, at this time, to say
any more, because you see yonder come our brother
Peter and honest Coridon. But I will promise
you, that as you and I fish and walk to- morrow
towards London, if I have now forgotten anything
that I can then remember, I will not keep it
from you.
Well met, gentlemen; this is lucky that we meet
so just together at this very door, Come, hostess,
where are you ? is supper ready ? Come, first
give us a drink; and be as quick as you can,
for I believe we are all very hungry. Well,
brother Peter and Coridon, to you both! Come,
drink: and then tell me what luck of fish: we
two have caught but ten bouts, of which my scholar
caught three. Look! here's eight; and a brace
we gave away. We have had a most pleasant day
for fishing and talking, and are returned home
both weary and hungry; and now meat and rest
will be pleasant.
Peter. And Coridon and I have not had
an unpleasant day: and yet I have caught but
five bouts; for, indeed, we went to a good honest
ale- house, and there we played at shovel-board
half the day; all the time that it rained we
were there, and as merry as they that fished.
And I am glad we are now with a dry house over
our heads; for, hark ! how it rains and blows.
Come, hostess, give us more ale, and our supper
with what haste you may: and when we have supped,
let us have your song, Piscator; and the catch
that your scholar promised us; or else, Coridon
will be dogged.
Piscator. Nay, I will not be worse than
my word; you shall not want my song, and I hope
I shall be perfect in it
Venator. And I hope the like for my
catch, which I have ready too: and therefore
let's go merrily to supper, and then have a
gentle touch at singing and drinking; but the
last with moderation.
Coridon. Come, now for your song; for
we have fed heartily. Come, hostess, lay a few
more sticks on the fire. And now, sing when
you will.
Piscator. Well then, here s to you,
Coridon; and now for my song.
O the gallant Fisher's life,
It is the best of any;
'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife,
And 'tis beloved of many:
Other joys
Are but toys;
Only this
Lawful is;
For our skill
Breeds no ill,
But content and pleasure.
In a morning up we rise
Ere Aurora's peeping,
Drink a cup to wash our eyes.
Leave the sluggard sleeping;
Then we go
To and fro,
With our knacks
At our backs
To such streams
As the Thames
If we have the leisure.
When we please to walk abroad
For our recreation,
In the fields is our abode,
Full of delectation:
Where in a brook
With a hook
Or a lake
Fish we take:
There we sit For a bit,
Till we fish entangle.
We have gentles in a horn,
We have paste and worms too
We can watch both night and morn,
Suffer rain and storms too;
None do here
Use to swear;
Oaths do fray
Fish away;
We sit still,
And watch our quill
Fishers must not wrangle.
If the sun's excessive heat
Make our bodies swelter,
To an osier hedge we get
For a friendly shelter
Where, in a dike,
Perch or Pike
Roach or Dace
We do chase Bleak or Gudgeon,
Without grudging
We are still contented.
Or we sometimes pass an hour
Under a green willow,
That defends us from a shower,
Making earth our pillow;
Where we may
Think and pray
Before death
Stops our breath.
Other joys
Are but toys,
And to be lamented.
Jo. Chalkhill.
Venator. Well sung, master; this day
s fortune and pleasure, and the night's company
and song, do all make me more and more in love
with angling. Gentlemen, my master left me alone
for an hour this day; and I verily believe he
retired himself from talking with me that he
might be so perfect in this song; was it not,
master?
Piscator. Yes indeed, for it is many
years since I learned it; and having forgotten
a part of it, I was forced to patch it up with
the help of mine own invention, who am not excellent
at poetry, as my part of the song may testify;
but of that I will say no more, lest you should
think I mean, by discommending it, to beg your
commendations of it. And therefore, without
replications, let's hear your catch, scholar;
which I hope will be a good one, for you are
both musical and have a good fancy to boot.
Venator. Marry, and that you shall;
and as freely as I would have my honest master
tell me some more secrets of fish and fishing,
as we walk and fish towards London to-morrow.
But, master, first let me tell you, that very
hour which you were absent from me, I sat down
under a willow-tree by the water-side, and considered
what you had told me of the owner of that pleasant
meadow in which you then left me; that he had
a plentiful estate, and not a heart to think
so ; that he had at this time many law-suits
depending; and that they both damped his mirth,
and took up so much of his time and thoughts,
that he himself had not leisure to take the
sweet content that I, who pretended no title
to them, took in his fields: for I could there
sit quietly; and looking on the water, see some
fishes sport themselves in the silver streams,
others leaping at flies of several shapes and
colours; looking on the hills, I could behold
them spotted with woods and groves; looking
down the meadows, could see, here a boy gathering
lilies and lady-smocks, and there a girl cropping
culverkeys and cowslips, all to make garlands
suitable to this present month of May: these,
and many other field flowers, so perfumed the
air, that I thought that very meadow like that
field in Sicily of which Diodorus speaks, where
the perfumes arising from the place make all
dogs that hunt in it to fall off, and to lose
their hottest scent I say, as I thus sat, joying
in my own happy condition, and pitying this
poor rich man that owned this and many other
pleasant groves and meadows about me, I did
thankfully remember what my Saviour said, that
the meek possess the earth; or rather, they
enjoy what the others possess, and enjoy not;
for anglers and meek quiet-spirited men are
free from those high, those restless thoughts,
which corrode the sweets of life; and they,
and they only, can say, as the poet has happily
express it,
Hail ! blest estate of lowliness;
Happy enjoyments of such minds
As, rich in self-contentedness,
Can, like the reeds, in roughest winds,
By yielding make that blow but small
At which proud oaks and cedars fall.
There came also into my mind at that time certain
verses in praise of a mean estate and humble
mind: they were written by Phineas Fletcher,
an excellent divine, and an excellent angler;
and the author of excellent Piscatory Eclogues,
in which you shall see the picture of this good
man's mind: and I wish mine to be like it.
No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright;
No begging wants his middle fortune bite:
But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.
His certain life, that never can deceive him,
Is full of thousand sweets and rich content
The smooth-leav'd beeches in the field receive
him,
With coolest shade, till noon-tide's heat be
spent.
His life is neither tost in boisterous, seas,
Or the vexatious world, or lost in slothful
ease;
Please and full blest he lives when he his God
can please.
His bed, more safe than soft, yields quiet sleeps,
While by his side his faithful spouse teas place
His little son into his bosom creeps,
The lively picture of his father's face.
His humble house or poor state ne'er torment
him
Less he could like, if less his God had lent
him;
And when he dies, green turfs do for a tomb
content him,
Gentlemen, these were a part of the thoughts
that then possessed me. And I there made a conversion
of a piece of an old catch, and added more to
it, fitting them to be sung by us anglers. Come,
Master, you can sing well: you must sing a part
of it. as it is in this paper.
Man's life is but vain, for 'tis subject to
pain,
And sorrow, and short as a bubble;
'Tis a hodge-podge of business, and money, and
care,
And care, and money, and trouble.
But we'll take no care when the weather proves
fair;
Nor will we vex now though it rain;
We'll banish all sorrow, and sing till to-morrow,
And angle. and angle again.
Peter. I marry, Sir, this is musick
indeed; this has cheer'd my heart, and made
me remember six verses in praise of musick,
which I will speak to you instantly.
Musick ! miraculous rhetorick, thou speak'st
sense
Without a tongue, excelling eloquence ;
With what ease might thy errors be excus'd,
Wert thou as truly lov'd as th' art abus'd!
But though dull souls neglect, and some reprove
thee,
I cannot hate thee, 'cause the Angels love thee.
Venator. And the repetition of these
last verses of musick has called to my memory
what Mr. Edmund Waller, a lover of the angle,
says of love and musick
Whilst I listen to thy voice,
Chloris! I feel my heart decay
That powerful voice
Calls my fleeting soul away:
Oh! suppress that magic sound,
Which destroys without a wound.
Peace, Chloris! peace, or singing die,
That together you and I
To heaven may go;
For all we know
Of what the blessed do above
Is, that they sing, and that they love.
Piscator. Well remembered, brother Peter;
these verses came seasonably, and we thank you
heartily. Come, we will all join together, my
host and all, and sing my scholar's catch over
again; and then each man drink the tother cup,
and to bed; and thank God we have a dry house
over our heads.
Piscator. Well, now, good-night to everybody.
Peter. And so say I.
Venator. And so say I.
Coridon. Good-night to you all; and
I thank you.
The FIFTH day
Piscator. Good-morrow, brother Peter,
and the like to you, honest Coridon.
Come, my hostess says there is seven shillings
to pay: let's each man drink a pot for his morning's
draught, and lay down his two shillings, so
that my hostess may not have occasion to repent
herself of being so diligent, and using us so
kindly.
Peter. The motion is liked by everybody,
and so, hostess, here's your money: we anglers
are all beholden to you; it will not be long
ere I'll see you again; and now, brother Piscator,
I wish you, and my brother your scholar, a fair
day and good fortune. Come, Coridon, this is
our way.
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