A fine dinner was dress'd, both for him and his guests; He was placed at the table above all the rest, In a rich chair or bed, lined with fine crimson red, With a rich golden canopy over his head : As he sat at his meat the music play'd sweet, With the choicest of singing, his joys to complete. While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine, snore, Being seven times drunker than ever before. Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain, And restore him his old leather garments again: 'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must, And they carried him straight where they found him at first; Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might; But when he did waken his joys took their flight. For his glory to him so pleasant did seem, That he thought it to be but a mere golden dream; Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought For a pardon, as fearing he'd set him at nought; But his highness he said, 'Thou'rt a jolly bold blade, Such a frolic before I think never was play'd.' Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloke, Which he gave for the sake of this frolicsome joke; Nay, and five hundred pound, with ten acres of ground: 'Thou shalt never,' said he, 'range the countries round, Crying, Old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend, Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.' Then the tinker replied, 'What! must Joan, my sweet bride, Be a lady, in chariots of pleasure to ride? Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command? embrace; I was never before in so happy a case.' Anonymous. THE ANGLER. AWAY to the brook, All your tackle out look, Here's a day that is worth a year's wishing; For 'tis a very spite To want tools when a man goes a fishing. Your rod with tops two, For the same will not do If your manner of angling you vary; If you troll with a pink, One too weak will be apt to miscarry. Then basket, neat made In a belt at your shoulders must dangle; To wear this to disdain, Next, pouch must not fail, Stuff'd as full as a mail, With wax, cruels, silks, hair, furs, and feathers, To make several flies For the several skies, That shall kill in despite of all weathers. The boxes and books For your lines and your hooks, And, though not for strict need notwithstanding, To adjust your points on, All these being on, "Tis high time we were gone, Down, and upward, that all may have pleasure; Till, here meeting at night, We shall have the delight To discourse of our fortunes at leisure. The day's not too bright, And the wind hits us right, And all nature does seem to invite us; For to second our skill, As they all did conspire to delight us. Or stream now, or still, A large panier will fill, Trout and grailing to rise are so willing; And we all shall be weary of killing. Away then, away, We lose sport by delay, But first leave all our sorrows behind us; We are all gone from home, The angler is free From the cares that degree 'Tis a slaughter needs ne'er be repented. And though we display All our arts to betray What were made for man's pleasure and diet; Yet both princes and states May, for all our quaint baits, Rule themselves and their people in quiet. We scratch not our pates, Nor repine at the rates Our superiors impose on our living; Knowing they have more wit In demanding, than we have in giving. Whilst quiet we sit We conclude all things fit, We care not who says, And intends it dispraise, That an angler t'a fool is next neighbour; We're as honest as he, And so let him take that for his labour. We covet no wealth, But the blessing of health, And that greater good conscience within; To our God and our king, Whilst we sit and fish We do pray as we wish, For long life to our king James the Second; Honest anglers then may, Or they've very foul play, With the best of good subjects be reckon'd. C. Cotton. |