Has scattered the dew-drops in vapour away;
And though our good friar had chose a snug spot,
O'ershadow'd by trees, yet they sheltered him not
In the midst of the day;
For the sun then that way
Came over the water and stared in his face.
But, a fisherman true,
Though he's roasted quite through,
To give o'er the sport he would think a disgrace;
So he sits down again,