Nay, the very colours of Caterpillers are, as one has observed, very elegant and beautiful: I shal (for a taste of the rest) describe one of them, which I will sometime the next month, shew you feeding on a Willow tree, and you shal find him punctually to answer this very description: "His lips and mouth somewhat yellow, his eyes black as Jet, his ore-head purple, his feet and hinder parts green, his tail two forked and black, the whole body stain'd with a kind of red spots which run along the neck and shoulder-blades, not unlike the form of a Cross, or the letter X, made thus cross-wise, and a white line drawn down his back to his tail; all which add much beauty to his whole body." And it is to me observable, that at a fix'd age this Caterpiller gives over to eat, and towards winter comes to be coverd over with a strange shell or crust, and so lives a kind of dead life, without eating all the winter, and (as others of several kinds turn to be several kinds of flies and vermin, the Spring following) [view Sir Fra. Bacon exper. 728 & 90 in his Natural History] so this Caterpiller then turns to be a painted Butterflye.
Come, come my Scholer, you see the River stops our morning walk, and I wil also here stop my discourse, only as we sit down under this Honey-Suckle hedge, whilst I look a Line to fit the Rod that our brother Peter has lent you, I shall for a little confirmation of what I have said, repeat the observation of the Lord Bartas.
God not contented to each kind to give,
And to infuse the vertue generative,
By his wise power made many creatures breed
Of liveless bodies, without Venus deed.
So the cold humour breeds the Salamander,
Who (in effect) like to her births commander
With child with hundred winters, with her touch
Quencheth the fire, though glowing ne'r so much.
So in the fire in burning furnace springs
The fly Perausta with the flaming wings;
Without the fire it dies, in it, it joyes,
Living in that which all things else destroyes.
Gerb. Herbal. Cabdem
So slow Boötes underneath him sees
In th'icie Islands Goslings hatcht of trees,
Whose fruitful leaves falling into the water,
Are turn'd ('tis known) to living fowls soon after.
So rotten planks of broken ships, do change
To Barnacles. Oh transformation strange!
'Twas first a green tree, then a broken hull,
Lately a Mushroom, now a flying Gull.
Vi. Oh my good Master, this morning walk has been spent to my great pleasure and wonder: but I pray, when shall I have your direction how to make Artificial flyes, like to those that the Trout loves best? and also how to use them?
Pisc. My honest Scholer, it is now past five of the Clock, we will fish til nine, and then go to Breakfast: Go you to yonder Sycamore tree, and hide your bottle of drink under the hollow root of it; for about that time, and in that place, we wil make a brave Breakfast with a piece of powdered Bief, and a Radish or two that I have in my Fish-bag; we shall, I warrant you, make a good, honest, wholsome, hungry Breakfast, and I will give you direction for the making and using of your fly: and in the mean time, there is your Rod and line; and my advice is, that you fish as you see mee do, and lets try which can catch the first fish.
Viat. I thank you, Master, I will observe and practice your direction as far as I am able.
Pisc. Look you Scholer, you see I have hold of a good fish: I now see it is a Trout; I pray put that net under him, and touch not my line, for if you do, then wee break all. Well done, Scholer, I thank you. Now for an other. Trust me, I have another bite: Come Scholer, come lay down your Rod, and help me to land this as you did the other. So, now we shall be sure to have a good dish of fish for supper.
Viat. I am glad of that, but I have no fortune; sure Master yours is a better Rod, and better Tackling.