When we please to walk abroad For our recreation, In the fields is our abode, Full of delectation: Where in a brook With a hook Or a lake Fish we take: There we sit For a bit, Till we fish entangle. We have gentles in a horn, We have paste and worms too We can watch both night and morn, Suffer rain and storms too; None do here Use to swear; Oaths do fray Fish away; We sit still, And watch our quill Fishers must not wrangle. If the sun's excessive heat Make our bodies swelter, To an osier hedge we get For a friendly shelter Where, in a dike, Perch or Pike Roach or Dace We do chase Bleak or Gudgeon, Without grudging We are still contented. Or we sometimes pass an hour Under a green willow, That defends us from a shower, Making earth our pillow; Where we may Think and pray Before death Stops our breath. Other joys Are but toys, And to be lamented. Jo. Chalkhill. Venator. Well sung, master; this day's fortune and pleasure, and the night's company and song, do all make me more and more in love with angling. Gentlemen, my master left me alone for an hour this day; and I verily believe he retired himself from talking with me that he might be so perfect in this song; was it not, master? Piscator. Yes indeed, for it is many years since I learned it; and having forgotten a part of it, I was forced to patch it up with the help of mine own invention, who am not excellent at poetry, as my part of the song may testify; but of that I will say no more, lest you should think I mean, by discommending it, to beg your commendations of it. And therefore, without replications, let's hear your catch, scholar; which I hope will be a good one, for you are both musical and have a good fancy to boot.