No fond interrogative wish

I breath to each watery god:

My new rod has caught a fine fish,
But, ah! who will catch my new rod.

BRIMER CRACK,

ANGLING.

There's a sultry cloud, that now doth shroud
The soft declining sun;

There a rippling stream, on which her beam
Shall fall, ere his course be run.

Ere that clouud be past, or that sun shall set,
We must seek that wave with our fly and net.

Nor is it not when the toil-worn men

Hie to their noontide meal

That our flies should quest the water's breast,
Or we wind our fish-strained reel :

But 'tis when the shades of evening rise,
That the angler casts his curious flies.

Then we'lt quaff this ale, and we'll tell a tale,
And then hie to the Avon's side;

And the ploughman's glee, adown the lea,
Is our signal to court the tide ;

Nay, though night may come ere we cease to toil,
Go our patience well, we will win our spoil.

THE TURBOT.

A TALE.

Lord Endless walking to the Hall,

Saw a fine Turbot on a stall.

"How much d'ye ask, friend, for this fish?
"Two guineas, Sir."-"Two guineas! pish!"
He paused he thought, "Two guineas! zounds!"
"Few fish to-day, Sir"-"Come take pounds.
Send it quick to Bedford-square,

Here's a pound note ;-now mind when there,
Ask for one pound, and say that's all—
My Lady's economical.”

The fish was sent, my Lady thought it
Superfluous, but-my Lord had bought it.
She paid one pound and cried—“O drat it!
Yet could not think the fish dear at it.
A knock announces Lady Tatter,
Come for an hour to sit and clatter ;
At length-"My darling Lady E.
I'm so distress'd-you know Lord T.
Can't dine without fish, and 'tis funny,
There's none to-day for love or money."
"Bless us," cried Lady E. "two hours
Ago, a Turbot came, 'tis your's,.
I paid but thirty shillings for it,

You'd say 'twas dirt cheap, if you saw it."
The bargain struck-cash paid—fish gone-
My Lord at dinner came anon;

He stared to see my Lady smile,

"Twas what he had not seen some while;

There was hash'd beef, and leeks a boat full,

But Turbot none-my Lord look'd doubtful— "My dear!-I think-is no fish come?" "There is love-leave the room, John-mumI sold the fish, you silly man,

I make a bargain when I can ;

The fish which cost us shillings twenty,
I sold for thirty to content ye—

For one pound ten to Lady Tatter,

Lord! how you stare, why, what's the matter?”
My Lord stared wide with both his eyes,
Down knife and fork dropt with surprise;
"For one pound ten to Lady Tatter!

If she was flat, ma'am, you were flatter;
Two pounds the Turbot cost-'tis true,
One pound I paid, and one pound you."
"Two pounds! Good Heavens! Why then say
It cost but one pound?"-"Nay, ma'am, nay,
I said not so, said nought about it;

So, madam, you were free to doubt it."

"Two pounds! Good Heavens! Why who could doubt

That the fish cost what I laid out?

"Twould have been madness (you may rate) In such a case to hesitate."

"'Tis never madness," he replies,

"To donbt. I doubt my very eyes.
Had you but doubted the prime cost,
Ten shillings would not have been lost.
Tho' you and all the world may rate,
You see 'tis best to hesitate."

STANZES IRREGULIERS,

TO MR IZAAK WALTON, BY C. COTTON.

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.

Good God! how sweet are all things here,
How beautiful the fields appear,

How cleanly do we feed and lie,
Lord what good hours do we keep,
How quietly we sleep,

What peace, what unanimity,

How innocent from the lewd fashion,
Is all our business, all our recreation.

Oh, how happy here's our leisure,
Oh, how innocent our pleasure,
O ye valleys, O ye mountains,
O ye groves, and crystal fountains,
How I love, at liberty,

By turns to come and visit ye.

Dear Solitude, the soul's best friend, That man acquainted with himself dost make, And all his Maker's wonders to intend,

With thee I here converse at will,

And would be glad to do so still,

For it is thou alone that'st keep the soul awake,

How calm and quiet a delight

It is, alone,

To read and meditate and write,

By none offended, and offending none, To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's ease, And pleasing a man's self, none other to displease. 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 learn'd, industriously to try.

Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot show,
The Iberian Tagus, or Ligurian Po,

The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine

Are puddle water all compared with thine;
And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are
With thine, much purer, to compare ;

The rapid Garonne and the winding Seine
Are both too mean,

Beloved Dove, with thee

To vie priority;

Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoin'd, submit,
And lay their trophies at thy silver feet.
O my beloved rocks, that rise

To awe the earth and brave the skies,