"ON HIS OWN HOOK!"
A Political "Angler's Song."
(Imitated, at a respectful distance, from Piscator's Song in "The Compleat Angler.")
Piscator pipeth:—
Now private pique breeds party talk,
Some G. would bless, and some would baulk;
Some seem to find it pretty sport,
Changeful constituencies to court.
To share such games I do not wish,
No, for awhile, I'd rather—fish.
Just now I might to danger ride,
There's doubt about the winning side,
One's little game may often prove
Advanced by a retiring move.
For faction's fetter, party's snare,
Whilst angling here I need not care.
Such recreation is there none,
As playing one's own game alone.
Aught else is risky, more or less,
And well may land one in a mess,
My hand alone my work can do,
Here I can fish, and study too.
I care not much to fish the seas,
Me party-angling more doth please;
My present task I contemplate
With patience, not with heart elate.
But in safe waters I would keep,
And floods at home run wild and deep.
I'm not quite cocksure on which side
At present runs "the flowing tide;"
I'd not be stranded with the ebb—
I've shunned the Grand Old Spider's web;
I am not like a simple fly;
I take my hook, and mind my eye.
I'll not with Caucus gudgeons wait,
Prepared to gorge whatever bait.
How poor a thing, wire-pullers find,
Will captivate the Caucus mind!
Yet latterly, to my surprise,
Unto my bait it fails to rise.
But here, though while I fish I fast
From the political repast,
Yet, as my new-found friends invite,
I'll take the swim, I'll watch the bite.
Should chance the Coalition dish,
There'd be a pretty kettle o' fish!
So I'm content this post to take,
Alone, but calm and wide awake.
Anglers "lie low" just now and then,
Much more so we fishers of men.
Here I can "bob," smoke, make a name,
And from afar watch the whole game.
I fancy that, were Randolph here,
He'd smile, and share my bottled beer.
Both fishers we; by brain not book,
Take our own line, on our own hook.
I'll watch which way the home wind blows,
And when 'tis settled—well, who knows?