First Piscator. Marry, no indeed! (Sings.)
O the brave fisher's life
It is the best of any!
He who'd mar it with mere strife
Sure must be a zany.
Other men,
Now and then,
Have their wars,
And their jars;
Our rule still
Is goodwill
As we gaily angle.
We have hooks about our hat,
We have rod and gaff too;
We can cast and we can chat,
Play our fish and chaff too.
None do here
Use to swear,
Oathes do fray
Fish away.
Our rule stil
Is goodwill.
Fishers must not rangle.
Second Piscator. Well sung, brother! Oh me, but even at our peaceful and vertuous pastime, there bee certain contentious and obstructive spoil-sports now. These abide not good old Anglers' Law, but bob and splash in other people's swims, fray away the fish they cannot catch, and desire not that experter anglers should, do muddy the stream and block its course, do net and poach and foul-hook in such noisy, conscienceless, unmannerly sort, that even honest angling becometh a bitter labour and aggravation.
First Piscator. Marry, yes brother! the Contemplative Man's Recreation is verily not what it once was. What would the sweet singer, Mr. William Basse, say to the busy B's of our day; Dubartas to B-rtl-y, or Mr. Thomas Barker, of pleasant report, to Tommy B-wl-s?
Second Piscator. Or worthy old Cotton to the cocky Macullum More?
First Piscator. Or the equally cocky Brummagem Boy?
Second Piscator. Or Dame Juliana Berners to B-lf-ur?
First Piscator. Or Sir Humphrey Davy to the haughty autocrat of H-tf-ld?
Second Piscator. Wel, wel, I hate contention and obstruction and all unsportsmanlike devices—when I am fishing.
First Piscator. And so say I. (Sings.)