Pisc. Well, my loving Scholer, and I am pleased to know that you are so well pleased with my direction and discourse; and I hope you will be pleased too, if you find a Trout at one of our Angles, which we left in the water to fish for it self; you shall chuse which shall be yours, and it is an even lay, one catches; And let me tell you, this kind of fishing, and laying Night-hooks, are like putting money to use, for they both work for the Owners, when they do nothing but sleep, or eat, or rejoice, as you know we have done this last hour, and fate as quietly and as free from cares under this Sycamore, as Virgils Tityrus and his Melibaeus did under their broad Beech tree: No life, my honest Scholer, no life so happy and so pleasant as the Anglers, unless it be the Beggers life in Summer; for then only they take no care, but are as happy as we Anglers.
Viat. Indeed Master, and so they be, as is witnessed by the beggers Song, made long since by Frank Davison, a good Poet, who was not a Begger, though he were a good Poet.
Pisc. Can you sing it, Scholer?
Viat. Sit down a little, good Master, and I wil try.
Bright shines the Sun, play beggers, play,
here's scraps enough to serve to day:
What noise of viols is so sweet
As when our merry clappers ring?
What mirth doth want when beggers meet?
A beggers life is for a King:
Eat, drink and play, sleep when we list,
Go where we will so stocks be mist.
Bright shines the Sun, play beggers, &c.
The world is ours and ours alone,
For we alone have world at will;
We purchase not, all is our own,
Both fields and streets we beggers fill:
Play beggers play, play beggers play,
here's scraps enough to serve to day.
A hundred herds of black and white
Upon our Gowns securely feed,
And yet if any dare us bite,
He dies therefore as sure as Creed:
Thus beggers Lord it as they please,
And only beggers live at ease:
Bright shines the Sun, play beggers play,
here's scraps enough to serve to day.
Pisc. I thank you good Scholer, this Song was well humor'd by the maker, and well remembred and sung by you; and I pray forget not the Ketch which you promised to make against night, for our Country man honest Coridon will expect your Ketch and my Song, which I must be forc'd to patch up, for it is so long since I learnt it, that I have forgot a part of it. But come, lets stretch our legs a little in a gentle walk to the River, and try what interest our Angles wil pay us for lending them so long to be used by the Trouts.
Viat. Oh me, look you Master, a fish, a fish.
Pisc. I marry Sir. that was a good fish indeed; if I had had the luck to have taken up that Rod, 'tis twenty to one he should not have broke my line by running to the Rods end, as you suffered him; I would have held him, unless he had been fellow to the great Trout that is neer an ell long, which had his picture drawne, and now to be seen at mine Hoste Rickabies at the George in Ware; and it may be, by giving that Trout the Rod, that is, by casting it to him into the water, I might have caught him at the long run, for so I use alwaies to do when I meet with an over-grown fish, and you will learn to do so hereafter; for I tell you, Scholer, fishing is an Art, or at least, it is an Art to catch fish.
Viat. But, Master, will this Trout die, for it is like he has the hook in his belly?
Pisc. I wil tel you, Scholer, that unless the hook be fast in his very Gorge, he wil live, and a little time with the help of the water, wil rust the hook, & it wil in time wear away as the gravel does in the horse hoof, which only leaves a false quarter.