Here, where the beech-nuts drop among the grasses,
Push the boat in, and throw the rope ashore.
Jack, hand me out the claret and the glasses;—
Here let us sit. We landed here before.
FRANK.
Jack’s undecided. Say, formose puer,
Bent in a dream above the “water wan;”
Shall we row higher, for the reeds are fewer,
There by the pollards, where you see the swan?
JACK.
Hist! That’s a pike. Look,—note against the river,
Gaunt as a wolf,—the sly old privateer,
Enter a gudgeon. Snap,—a gulp, a shiver;—
Exit the gudgeon. Let us anchor here.
FRANK. (In the grass.)
Jove, what a day! Black Care upon the crupper
Nods at his post, and slumbers in the sun,
Half of Theocritus, with a touch of Tupper
Churns in my head. The frenzy has begun.
LAURENCE.
Sing to us then. Damoetas in a choker
Much out of tune, will edify the rooks.