“And when an angler for his dish,
Through gluttony’s vile sin,
Attempts—a wretch—to pull thee out,
God give thee strength, oh, gentle trout,
To pull the rascal in.”
All who love to go a-fishing can well afford to smile at the malicious flings of morbid critics, and while recreating both mind and body in casting the mimic fly along the dashing mountain stream, think of the deluded satirists in pity rather than condemnation.
Let us, then, in unison with the quaint and charming poet, Gay:
“Mark well the various seasons of the year,
How the succeeding insect race appear,
In their revolving moon one color reigns,