_Pet_. And _Coridon_ and I have not had an unpleasant day, and yet I have caught but five _Trouts_; for indeed we went to a good honest Alehouse, and there we plaid at shovel-board half the day; all the time that it rained we were there, and as merry as they that fish'd, and I am glad we are now with a dry house over our heads, for heark how it rains and blows. Come Hostis, give us more Ale, and our Supper with what haste you may, and when we have sup'd, lets have your Song, _Piscator_, and the Ketch that your Scholer promised us, or else _Coridon_ wil be doged. _Pisc_. Nay, I will not be worse then my word, you shall not want my Song, and I hope I shall be perfect in it. _Viat_. And I hope the like for my Ketch, which I have ready too, and therefore lets go merrily to Supper, and then have a gentle touch at singing and drinking; but the last with moderation. _Cor_. Come, now for your Song, for we have fed heartily. Come Hostis, give us a little more drink, and lay a few more sticks on the fire, and now sing when you will. _Pisc_. Well then, here's to you _Coridon_; and now for my Song. _Oh the brave Fisher's life, It is the best of any, 'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife, And 'tis belov'd of many: Other joyes are but toyes, only this lawful is, for our skil breeds no ill, but content and pleasure. In a morning up we rise Ere_ Aurora's _peeping, Drink a cup to wash our eyes, Leave the sluggard sleeping; Then we go too and fro, with our knacks at our backs, to such streams as the_ Thames _if we have the leisure. 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 intangle. 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, oathes do fray fish away. we sit still, watch our quill, Fishers must not rangle. If the Suns excessive heat Makes our bodies swelter To an_ Osier _hedge we get For a friendly shelter, where in a dike_ Pearch _or_ Pike, Roch _or_ Dace _we do chase_ Bleak _or_ Gudgion _without grudging, we are still contented. Or we sometimes pass an hour, Under a green willow, That defends us from a showr, Making earth our pillow, There we may think and pray before death stops our breath; other joyes are but toyes and to be lamented_.