That swim in Basildon, and Thames hath nought
Like Cookham’s pike, but, oh; in all—
Yes, in all places are the gudgeon caught.
The old man angles still
For roach, and sits red faced and fills his chair;
And perch, the boy expects to kill,
And roves and fishes here and fishes there.
The child but three feet tall
For the gay minnows and the bleak doth ply
His bending hazel, but by all—