The barbèd hook immoveable may lie.
But, oh! his chicks he counts before they're hatched,
For by his foe, in skill, he's more than matched,
(The scaly monster,) who at length of line,
The close acquaintance sharply does decline.
He tugged, it pulled, but all, alas! was vain,
For one on t'other not an inch could gain.
First Peter, winding, thought his foe waxed faint,
But quickly Jack untwisting—cried, "I aint."
Thus passed an hour, but still he keeps the water,