Give me the joys the Angler feels-
Let others know dull care;

Give me the bait that surely kills

Let others better fare,

So gallantly and fine,

So gallantly and fine,

So gallantly and fine,

Let others better fare.

I care not for their bustling sports-
Though I do not decry-

To them I leave their active fortes,
Give me with rod to try

This gentle sport of mine,

This gentle sport of mine,

This gentle sport of mine,

Give me with Rod to try.

Then here I raise the cheerful glass
To toast all Brother Bobs:

May Time to them right quickly pass,

With fun stuck in their nobs,

So happy and so fine,

So happy and so fine,

So happy and so fine,

With fun stuck in their nobs.

56

SAINT PATRICK.

No doubt, St. Patrick was an Angler
Of credit and renown, Sir,

And many a shining trout he caught,
Ere he built Dublin town, Sir.

Old story says, (it tells no lies)
He fish'd with bait and line, Sir,

At

every throw he had a bite,

Which tugg'd and shook the twine, Sir.

In troubled streams he lov'd to fish,
Then salmon could not see, Sir,
The trout, and eels, and also pike,
Were under this decree, Sir,
And this, perhaps, may solve a point,
With other learn'd matters, Sir,

Why Irishmen still love to fish
Among troubled waters, Sir.

Some likewise say, and even sware,
He was a godly saint, Sir,
And made "loose fish" for all the land,

And trout as red as paint, Sir.

And as a relic of his power,

It was his ardent wish, Sir,

That dear old Erin should always have,
A number of "odd fish", Sir..

TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN, 1810.

SONG.

From town I walk'd to take the air,
Shun smoke and noise of coaches;
I saw a lovely damsel fair,
Angling for dace and roaches.

Close by a brook, with line and hook,

Which curiously was baited, Attentively the maid did look,

While for a bite she waited.

Struck with her charms, I nearer drew,
To view the lovely creature;

The line into the brook she threw,.
But Oh! with such good nature.

When me this charming girl espied,
She seem'd intimidated;

Don't be afraid, sweet maid, I cried,
Cupid your hook has baited.

My hand and heart, sweet nymph, are thine, If you will but accept them;

And I here to thee resign,

But die if you reject me.

This, and much more, to her I said;

She replied, she must away;

Her friends would think too long she staid, Then sweetly smil'd, and bid good-day.

I soon gain'd hers, and friends consent,
That Delia should be my bride;
In a few months to church we went,
And the happy knot was tied.

Now pass my days in sweet content,
Blest with her fond embraces ;
And Delia owns she does not repent,
Angling for roach and daces.

OUT OF FISHING.

Last night, Tom Snooks, says he to me,
If you've a mind some fun to see,
I'll take you out with two or three,
Who mean to go a fishing.

So get a rod, a can, and bait,

We start from town precise at eight,
Then mind friend Muggs you ar'nt too late
To go with us a fishing.

Says I, I will; so up I goes

To Mr Sprout, with my best clothes,

And borrow'd what you may suppose,

To rig me out for fishing.

With rods and lines and bait, a store,
Enough for half-a-dozen more,

I never shall forget the bore

Of going out a fishing.

I warning took, and on a rail
I, like the bird in nursery tale,
What wagged about his little tail,
Perch'd me up for fishing.

With rods and lines, &c.

But, sad mischance, the rail was old,
It broke, and down the bank I roll'd-
Look here! I'm sure I shall catch cold,
From going out a fishing.

The mud was soft, my legs are thin,
And farther I kept sinking in,
Untill I thought 'twould reach my chin,
When we went out a fishing.

At last says I, this will not suit ;
So out I bawls, when Muggs, the brute,
He lugg'd me out, but left my boot,
Where I had been a fishing.

With rods and lines, &c.

At two o'clock, the hour agreed,
We sat us down, ourselves to feed,
But fortune was unkind indeed,

When we were out a fishing;
For Crabb, to whom the prog did fall,
Forgot the pie, the beef, and all,
And bottled off three quarts of small-
What stuff for us a fishing.