Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beget
With trangling snare or windowy net;
For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou, thyself, art thine own bait,
That fish, that is not catched thereby
Is wiser far, alas, than I!
Piscator. I thank you for these choice verses. And I will now tell you of the Eel, which is a most dainty fish. The Romans have esteemed her the Helena of their feasts. Sir Francis Bacon will allow the Eel to live but ten years; but he mentions a Lamprey, belonging to the Roman Emperor, that was made tame and kept for three-score years; so that when she died, Crassus, the orator, lamented her death.
I will tell you next how to make the Eel a most excellent dish of meat.
First, wash him in water and salt, then pull off his skin and clean him; then give him three or four scotches with a knife; and then put into him sweet herbs, an anchovy and a little nutmeg. Then pull his skin over him, and tie him with pack-thread; and baste him with butter, and what he drips, be his sauce. And when I dress an Eel thus, I wish he were a yard and three-quarters long. But they are not so proper to be talked of by me because they make us anglers no sport.
The Barbel, so called by reason of his barb or wattles, and the Gudgeon, are both fine fish of excellent shape.
My further purpose was to give you directions concerning Roach and Dace, but I will forbear. I see yonder, brother Peter. But I promise you, to-morrow as we walk towards London, if I have forgotten anything now I will not then keep it from you.
Venator. Come, we will all join together and drink a cup to our jovial host, and so to bed. I say good-night to everybody.
Piscator. And so say I.