Come let me tell you what holy Mr. Herbert faies of fuch dayes and Flowers as these, and then we will thank God that we enjoy them, and walk to the River and fit down quietly and try to catch the other brace of Trouts.

Sweet day, fo cool, fo calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and skie, Sweet dews fhal weep thy fall to night, for thou must die.

Sweet Rofe,whofe hew angry and brav Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave,

and thou must die.

Sweet Spring, fuloffweet days&rofes,
A box where fweets compacted lie;
My Mufick fhewes you have your clofes,

and all must die.

Only a fweet and vertuous foul,
Like feafoned timber never gives,

I 4

But

But when the whole world turns to cole, then chiefly lives.

Viat. I thank you, good Master, for your good direction for fly-fishing, and for the sweet enjoyment of the pleasant day,which is fo far fpent without offence to God or man: and I thank you for the fweet close of your discourse with Mr. Herberts Verses, which I have heard, loved Angling;and I do the rather believe it, because he had a spirit sutable to Anglers, and to thofe Primitive Christians that you love, and have fo much commended.

Pifc. Well, my loving Scholer, and I am pleased to know that you are fo well pleased with my direction and difcourfe; and I hope you will be pleased too, if find a you Trout at one of our Angles, which we left in the water to fish for it self; you shall chufe which shall be yours, and it is an even lay, one catches;

And

And let me tell you, this kind of fishing,and laying Night-hooks, are like putting money to use, for they both work for the Owners, when they do nothing but sleep, or eat,or rejoice, as you know we have done this last hour, and fate as quietly and as free from cares under this Sycamore, as Virgils Tityrus and his Melibaus did under their broad Beech tree: No life, my honest Scholer, no life fo happy and so pleasant as the Anglers, unless it be the Beggers life in Summer; for then only they take no care, but are as happy as we Anglers.

Viat. Indeed Mafter, and fo they be, as is witneffed by the beggers Song, made long fince by Frank Davifon, a good Poet, who was not a Begger, though he were a a good Poet.

Pifc. Can you fing it,Scholer?
Viat. Sit down a little, good Ma-

ster,and I wii try.

Bright fhines the Sun,play beggers, play, here's fcraps enough to ferve to day: What noife of viols is fo fweet

As when our merry clappers ring?
What mirth doth want when beggers meet?
A beggers life is for a King:

Eat,drink and play, fleep when we lift,
Gowhere we will fo ftocks be mift.
Bright fhines the Sun, play beggers, &c

The world is ours and ours alone,
For we alone have world at will;
We purchase not, all is our own,
Both fields and streets we beggers fill:
Play beggers play, play beggers play,
here's fcraps enough to ferve to day.

A hundred herds of black and white
Upon our Gowns fecurely feed,
And yet if any dare us bite,

He dies therefore as fure as Creed:
Thus beggers Lord it as they pleafe,
And only beggers live at ease:

Bright fhines the Sun, play beggers play,
bere's fcraps enough to serve to day.

Pifc. I thank you good Scholer, this Song was well humor'd by the maker, and well remembred and fung by yuo; and I pray forget not the Ketch which you promised to make against night, for our Country man honest Coridon will expect your Ketch and my Song, which I must be forc'd to patch up, for it is fo long fince I learnt it, that I have forgot a part of it. But come, lets ftretch our legs a little in a gentle walk to the River,and try what intereft our Angles wil pay us for lending them so long to be used by the Trouts.

Viat. Oh me, look you Mafter, a fish, a fish.

Pifc. Imarry Sir,that was a good fish indeed; if I had had the luck to have taken up that Rod, 'tis twenty to one he should not have broke my line by running to the Rods end, as you fuffered him; I would have held him, unless he had been fellow

to