A PUNT POEM
I'm a fisherman bold,
And I don't mind the cold,
Nor care about getting wet through!
I don't mind the rain,
Or rheumatical pain,
Or even the tic-douloureux!
I'm a fisherman damp,
Though I suffer from cramp,
Let weather be foul or be fine,
From morning till night
Will I wait for a bite,
And never see cause to repine!
I'm a fisherman glad,
And I never am sad;
I care not to shoot or to hunt;
I would be quite content
If my whole life were spent
From morning to night in a punt!
I'm a fisherman brave,
And I carol a stave
In praise of the rod and the line!
From the bank, or a boat,
Will I gaze on my float—
What life is so happy as mine?
Big Scotchman. "Confound these midges!"
Little Cockney. "Why, they 'aven't touched me!"
Big Scotchman. "Maybe they have na noticed ye yet!"
The Greatest Angle of Elevation.—Fishing off the top of Shakespeare's Cliff.