He observeth, if the Angler's Sport shoulde fail him, "he at the best hathe his holsom Walk and mery at his Ease, a swete Ayre of the swete Savour of the Meade of Flowers, that maketh him hungry; he heareth the melodious Harmonie of Fowles, he seeth the young Swans, Herons, Ducks, Cotes, and manie other Fowles, with theire Broods, which me seemeth better than alle the Noise of Hounds, Faukenors, and Fowlers can make. And if the Angler take Fysshe, then there is noe Man merrier than he is in his Spryte." And, "Ye shall not use this foresaid crafty Disporte for no covetysnesse in the encreasing and sparing of your Money onlie, but pryncipallie for your Solace, and to cause the Health of your Bodie, and speciallie of your Soule, for when ye purpose to goe on your Disportes of Fysshynge, ye will not desire greatlie manie Persons with you, which woulde lett you of your Game. And thenne ye may serve GOD devoutlie, in saying affectuouslie your customable Prayer; and thus doing, ye shall eschew and voyd manie Vices." [Illustration: More reading Wynkyn de Worde.] "Angling is itselfe a Vice," cries _Erasmus_, from the Thresholde; "for my Part I will fish none, save and except for pickled Oysters." "In the Regions below," answers _Father_; and then laughinglie tells _Linacre_ of his firste Dialogue with _Erasmus_, who had beene feasting in my Lord Mayor's Cellar:--"'Whence come you?' 'From below.' 'What were they about there?' 'Eating live Oysters, and drinking out of Leather Jacks.' 'Either you are _Erasmus_,' etc. 'Either you are _More_ or Nothing.'" "'Neither more nor less,' you should have rejoyned," sayth the Doctor. "How I wish I had!" says _Father_; "don't torment me with a Jest I might have made and did not make; 'speciallie to put downe _Erasmus_." "_Concedo nulli_," sayth _Erasmus_. "Why are you so lazy?" asks _Linacre_; "I am sure you can speak English if you will." "Soe far from it," sayth _Erasmus_, "that I made my Incapacitie an Excuse for declining an English Rectory. Albeit, you know how _Wareham_ requited me; saying, in his kind, generous Way, I served the Church more by my Pen than I coulde by preaching Sermons in a countrie Village." Sayth _Linacre_, "The Archbishop hath made another Remark, as much to the Purpose: to wit, that he has received from you the Immortalitie which Emperors and Kings cannot bestow." "They cannot even bid a smoking Sirloin retain its Heat an Hour after it hath left the Fire," sayth _Father_. "Tilly-vally! as my good _Alice_ says,--let us remember the universal Doom, '_Fruges consumere nati_,' and philosophize over our Ale and Bracket." "Not _Cambridge_ Ale, neither," sayth _Erasmus_.