"Britannia's
Pastorals,"
i. 5.
Now as an angler melancholy standing
Upon a greene banke yielding room for landing,
A wriggling yellow worme thrust on his hooke,
Now in the midst he throws, then in a nooke:
Here pulls his line, there throws it in again,
Mending his croke and baite, but all in vaine,
He long stands viewing of the curling streame;
At last a hungry pike, or well-growne breame
Snatch at the worme, and hasting fast away,
He, knowing it a fish of stubborn sway,
Pulls up his rod, but soft (as having skill),
Wherewith the hook fast holds the fishe's gill.
Then all his line he freely yielded him,
Whilst furiously all up and downe both swimme
Th' insnared fish, here on the toppe doth scud,
There underneath the bankes; then in the mud;
And with his frantic fits so scares the shoal,
That each one takes his hyde or starting hole:
By this the pike, cleane wearied, underneath
A willow lyes, and pants (if fishes breathe);
Wherewith the angler gently pulls him to him,
And, lest his haste might happen to undoe him,
Layes downe his rod, then takes his line in hand,
And by degrees getting the fish to land,
Walkes to another poole: at length is winner
Of such a dish as serves him for his dinner.