Soon to hiz pole ov alder wood,
(Almost the pole az old az Ishmels self,)
He ties the horse hair line,
(Himself did weave), and feeling
With hiz old fingers crisp the
Barbed hooks point, sure to be
That dullness waz not sleeping thare,
He takes (oh! nauty Ishmel!)
From out a quaint old bottle,
That hold perhaps a pint,