For fish as deeply as I choose, the fish are deeper still.
No pike I've seen; the only one was that unpleasant wicket,
Where threepence I was forced to pay, and now I've lost the ticket;
Nor yet a single perch, for which my lucky stars to thank,
Except the perch I've taken on this damp, rheumatic bank.
I can't pick up a chub, though on the lock all day I stick;
They say it is impossible a lock of Chub to pick:
A flounder would be welcome; but unfeeling wags remark,
I shall get lots of them to-night returning in the dark.
Upon that bobbing quill, all day I have done nought but gloat,