Sivut kuvina
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VII.

Men's fcorns fhould rather joy than forrow move! For then thou highest art when thou art down. Their forms of hate fhould more blow up my love;

Their laughters my applause, their mocks my

crown.

Sorrow for him, and shame let me betide,
Who for me, wretch, in shame and forrow died.
vui.
Chromis.

Thelgon, 'tis not myfelf for whom I plain;
My private lofs full eafy could I bear,
If private lofs might help the public gain;

But who can blame my grief, or chide my fear,
Since now the fisher's trade and honour'd name
Is made the common badge of fcorn and fhame?

IX.

Little know they the fisher's toilfome pain, Whofe labour with his age, still growing, spends

not;

His care and watchings (oft mispent in vain)
The early morn begins, dark evening ends not.
Too foolish men, that think all labour stands
In travel of the feet and tired hands!

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Ah, wretched fifhers! born to hate and ftrife 3 To others good, but to your rape and spoil. This is the briefeft sum of fisher's life,

To fweat, to freeze, to watch, to faft, to toil Hated to love, to live defpis'd, forlorn; A forrow to himself, all others' fcorn.

XI.

Thelgon.

Too well I know the fisher's thanklefs pain;
Yet bear it cheerfully, nor dare repine :
To grudge at lofs is fond, (too fond and vain)
When higheft caufes juftly it affign.
Who bites the ftone, and yet the dog condemns,
Much worfe is than the beast he fo contemns.
x11.

Chromis, how many fishers doft thou know,

That rule their boats, and use their nets aright? That neither wind, nor time, nor tide foreflow?

Such fome have been; but, ah! by tempests' spite, Their boats are loft; while we may fit and moan, That few were such, and now thofe few are none. Ff

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