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Chapter 16. IS OF
NOTHING, OR THAT WHICH IS NOTHING WORTH
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 for gotten anything 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 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 Trouts, 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. PET. And
Coridon
and I have had not an unpleasant day, and yet I have caught but five
Trouts;
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. PISC. Nay,
I will
not be worse than my word; you shall not want my song, and I hope I
shall be
perfect in it. VEN. 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. COR. 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. PISC. Well
then
here's to you, Coridon; and now for my song. It is the best of any; 'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife, And 'tis beloved by 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 Pearch 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 VEN. Well
sung,
Master! This day's fortune and pleasure, and this 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 his song; was it not
Master? PISC. 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 by 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. VEN.
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, 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 lawsuits 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
colors; 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 culverkeyes 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 other 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 expressed it: — 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
an
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 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-leaved beeches in the field receive him With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent: His life is neither tossed in boisterous seas, or the vexatious world, or lost in slothful ease: Pleased 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 hath 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. PET. I
marry, Sir,
this is music indeed! This has cheered my heart, and made me to
remember six
verses in praise of Music, which I will speak to you instantly. Without a tongue, excelling eloquence; With what ease might thy errors be excused, Wert thou as truly loved as thou 'rt abused! But thou dull souls neglect, and some reprove thee, I cannot hate thee, 'cause the Angels love thee. VEN. And
the
repetition of these last verses of music have called to my memory what
Mr.
Edmund Waller, a lover of the angle, says of Love and Music. Chloris, I feel my heart decay; That powerful voice Calls my fleeting soul away: O, 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. PISC. 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 t'other cup and
to bed,
and thank God we have a dry house over our heads. PISC. Well
now,
Good night to everybody. PET. And
so say I. VEN. And
so say I. COR. Good
night to
you all; and I thank you, PISC. 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; that so my Hostess may not
have
occasion to repent herself of being so diligent, and using us so
kindly. PET. 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. |