The Complete Angler: Or The Comtemplative Man's Recreation, of Izaak Walton and Charles Cotton

Forsideomslag
Priv. print. for the Navarre Society limited, 1925 - 445 sider
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Side 116 - ... there I sat viewing the silver streams glide silently towards their centre, the tempestuous sea; yet sometimes opposed by rugged roots, and pebblestones, which broke their waves and turned them into foam: and sometimes I beguiled time by viewing the harmless lambs; some leaping securely in the cool shade, whilst others sported themselves in the cheerful sun; and saw others craving comfort from the swollen udders of their bleating dams. As I thus sat, these and other sights had so fully possessed...
Side 54 - But the Nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet loud music out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say...
Side 118 - A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.
Side 187 - I mean the arming-wire, through his mouth. and out at his gills ; and then with a fine needle and silk sew the upper part of his leg, with only one stitch, to the arming- wire of your hook ; or tie the frog's leg above the upper joint to the armed wire ; and in so doing, use him as though you loved him, that is, harm him as little as you may possibly, that he may live the longer.
Side 119 - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Side 72 - But who hath praise enough ? nay, who hath any "? None can express thy works, but he that knows them ; And none can know thy works, which are so many, And so complete, but only he that owes them.
Side 85 - daubed nest : The groves already did rejoice In Philomel's triumphing voice; The showers were short, the weather mild, The morning fresh, the evening smiled. Joan takes her neat-rubbed pail, and now She trips to milk the sand-red cow, — Where, for some sturdy foot-ball swain, Joan strokes a syllabub or twain. The fields and gardens were beset With tulips, crocus, violet ; And now, though late, the modest rose Did more than half a blush disclose.
Side 7 - FAREWELL, thou busy world, and may We never meet again; Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray, And do more good in one short day Than he who his whole age out-wears Upon the most conspicuous theatres, Where nought but vanity and vice appears.
Side 9 - O my beloved nymph, fair Dove, Princess of rivers, how I love Upon thy flowery banks to lie, And view thy silver stream, When gilded by a Summer's beam! And in it all thy wanton fry Playing at liberty, And, with my angle, upon them The all of treachery I ever learned industriously to try!
Side 10 - Here in this despised recess, Would I, maugre winter's cold And the summer's worst excess, Try to live out to sixty full years old ; And, all the while, Without an envious eye On any thriving under Fortune's smile, Contented live, and then contented die.

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