Scotus.--Oh, Master, what is this? That which but now was dry ditch is
presently salad bowl! Mark you how the green vegetables cover the
waters! We shall have no sport.
Anglus.--Patience, Scholar; 'tis but Master Hedgely's men, cutting the
weeds above. We may rest us some hour or two, till they go by. Or,
perchance, for a matter of five shillings--
Scotus.--Nay, Master, this English angling is over costly. The rent of
your ditch is high, the expenses of travel are burdensome. In crawling
through your nettles and thistles I have scratched my face, and torn my
raiment, and I will not pay the labourer to cease labouring in his
industry.
Anglus.--Why then, _pazienza_, Scholar, or listen while I sing that sweet
ditty of country contentment and an angler's life, writ by worthy Master
Hackle long ago.
SONG
The Angler hath a jolly life
Who by the rail runs down,
And leaves his business and his wife,
And all the din of town.
The wind down stream is blowing straight,
And nowhere cast can he;
Then lo, he doth but sit and wait
In kindly company.
Or else men turn the water off,
Or folk be cutting weed,
While he doth at misfortune scoff,
From every trouble freed.
Or else he waiteth for a rise,
And ne'er a rise may see;
For why, there are not any flies
To bear him company.
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