THE Secrets of Angling.  
TEACHING, The choicest Tools▪ Baits and seasons, for the taking of any Fish, in Pond or River: practised and familiarly opened in three Books.  
By I. D. Esquire.  
Well fair the pleasure  
that brings such treasure  
Hold hook and line  
then all is mine   

TO THE WORTHY, AND MY MUCH RESPECTED FRIEND, Mr. JOHN HARBORNE, of Tackley, in the County of Oxford, Esquire.  
WOrthy Sir, this Poem being sent unto me to be printed after the death of the Author, who intended to have done it in his life, but was prevented by death: I could not among my good friends, bethink me of any one to whom I might more fitly dedicate it (as well for the nature of the subject in which you delight as to express my love) than to yourself. I find it not only savouring of Art and Honesty, two things now strangers unto many Authors, but also both pleasant and profitable; and being loath to see a thing of such value lie hidden in obscurity, whilst matters of no moment pester the stales of every STATIONER; I therefore make bold to publish it, for the benefit and delight of all, trusting that I shall neither thereby disparaged the Author, nor dislike them. I need not, I think, Appollogize either the use of the subject, or for that it is reduced into the nature of a Poem; for as touching the last (in that it is in verse) some count it by so much the more delightful; and I hold it every way as fit a subject for Poetry as Husbandry: and touching the first, if Hunting & Hawking have been thought worthy delights and Arts to be instructed in, I make no doubt but this Art of Angling is much more worthy practice and approbation; for it is a sport every way as pleasant, less chargeable, more profitable, and nothing so much subject to choler or impatience as those are: you shall find it more briefly, pleasantly, & more exactly performed, than any of this kind heretofore. Therefore I refer you to the perusing thereof, and myself to your good opinion, which I tender as that I hold most dear; ever remaining at  
your gentle Command, R. I.   

In due praise of this Praiseworthy Skill and work.  

IN skills that all doeseeke, but few do find,  
Both gain and game; (like Sun and Moon do shine,  
Then th' Art of Fishing thus, is of that kind;  
The Angler taketh both with Hooke and Line.  
And as, with Lines, both these he takes; this takes,  
With many a Line, well made, both Ears and Hearts,  
And, by this skill, the skill-lesse skilful makes:  
The Corpses whereof dissected so he parts,  
Upon an humble Subject never lay  
More proud, yet plainer Lines, the plain to lead,  
This plainer Art with pleasure to survey,  
To purchase it, with profit, by that DEED:  
Who think this skill's too low than, for the high,  
This Angler read, and they'll be ta'en thereby.   Io. Davies.  

The Contents.  

The first Book containeth these 3. heads.  
1 THe antiquity of Angling, with the Art of Fishing, and of Fish in general.  
2 The lawfulness, pleasure, and profit thereof, with all Objections, answered, against it.  
3 To know the season, and times to provide the Tools, and how to choose the best, and the manner how to make them fit to take each several Fish.   

The second Book, containeth  
1 THe Anglers experience, how to use his Tools and Baits, to make profit by his game.  
2 What Fish is not taken with Angle, and what is: and which is best for health.  
3 In what Waters and Rivers to find each Fish.   

The third Book containeth,  
1 THe 12. virtues and qualities which ought to be in every Angler.  
2 What weather, seasons, and times of the year is best and worst, and what hours of the day is best for sport.  
3 To know each Fishes haunt, and the times to take them.  
Also, an obscure secret, of an approved Bait, tending thereunto.    

THE SECRETS of Angling.  

The first Book.  

OF Angling, and the Art thereof I sing,  
What kind of Tools it doth behove to have;  
And with what pleasing bait a man may bring  
The Fish to bite within the watery wave.  
A work of thanks to such as in a thing  
Of harmless pleasure, have regard to save  
Their dearest souls from sin; and may intend  
Of precious time, some part thereon to spend.   

You Nymphs that in the Springs and Waters sweet,  
Your dwelling have, of every Hill and Dale,  
And oft amidst the Meadows green do meet,  
To sport and play, and hear the Nightingale;  
And in the rivers fresh do wash your feet,  
While Progne's sister tells her woeful tale:  
Such aid and power unto my verses lend,  
As may suffice this little work to end.   

And thou sweet 
* The name of a Brook.  Boyd that with thy watery sway,  
Dost wash the cliffs of Deington and of Week;  
And through their Rocks with crooked winding way,  
Thy mother Auon runnest soft to seek:  
In whose fair streams the speckled Trout doth play,  
The roche, the Dace, the Gudgeon, and the Bleeke.  
Teach me the skill with slender Line and Hooke  
To take each Fish of River, Pond, and Brooke.   

The time for providing Angle Rods.  
FIrst, when the Sun beginneth to decline  
Southward his course, with his fair Chariot bright,  
And passed hath of Heaven the middle Line,  
That makes of equal length both day and night;  
And left behind his back the dreadful sign,  
Of cruel Centaur, slain in drunken fight,  
When Beasts do mourn, and Birds forsake their song,  
And every Creature thinks the night too long.   

And blustering Boreas with his chilling cold,  
Unclothed hath the Trees of summers green;  
And Woods, and groves, are naked to behold,  
Of Leaves and Branches now despoiled clean:  
So that their fruitful stocks they do unfold,  
And lay abroad their offspring to beseen;  
Where nature shows her great increase of kind  
To such as seek their tender shoots to find.   

Then go into some great Arcadian wood,  
Where store of ancient Hazels do abound;  
And seek amongst their springs and tender brood,  
Such shoots as are the straightest, long, and round:  
And of them all (store up what you think good)  
But fairest choose, the smoothest, and most sound;  
So that they do not two years growth exceed,  
In shape and beauty like the Belgic Reed.   

These prune and cleanse of every leaf and spray,  
Yet leave the tender top remaining still:  
Then home with thee go bear them safe away,  
But perish not the Rind and utter Pill;  
And on some even boarded floor them lay,  
Where they may dry and season at their fill:  
And place upon their crooked parts some weight,  
To press them down, and keep them plain and strait.   

So shalt thou have always in store the best,  
And fittest Rods to serve thy turn aright;  
For not the brittle Cane, nor all the rest,  
I like so well, though it be long and light,  
Since that the Fish are frighted with the least  
Aspect of any glittering thing, or white:  
Nor doth it by one half so well incline,  
As doth the pliant rod to save the line.   

To make the Line.  
THen get good Hair, so that it be not black,  
Neither of Mare nor Gelding let it be;  
Nor of the tyreling jade that bears the pack:  
But of some lusty Horse or Courser free,  
Whose bushy tail upon the ground doth track,  
Like blazing Comet that sometimes we see:  
From out the midst thereof the longest take,  
At leisure best your Links and Lines to make.   

Then twist them finely, as you think most meet,  
By skill or practise easy to be found;  
As doth Arachue with her slender feet;  
Draw forth her little thread along the ground,  
But not too hard or slack, the mean is sweet,  
Lest slack they snarl, or hard they prove unsound,  
And intermixed with silver, silk, or gold,  
The tender hairs, the better so to hold.   

Then end to end, as falleth to their lot,  
Let all your Links in order as they lie  
Be knit together, with that Fisher's knot  
That will not slip, or with the wet untie:  
And at the lowest end forget it not  
To leave a Bought or Compass like an eye,  
The Link that holds your Hook to hang upon,  
When you think good to take it off and on.   

Which Link must neither be so great nor strong,  
Nor like of colour as the others were;  
Scant half so big, so that it be as long:  
Of greyest Hue, and of the soundest Hair,  
Lest whiles it hangs the liquid waves among  
The sight thereof, the wary Fish should fear.  
And at one end a loop or Compass fine,  
To fasten to the other of your line.   

Cork.  
THen take good Cork, so much as shall suffice,  
For every Line to make his swimmer fit;  
And where the midst and thickest parts doth rise,  
There burn a round small hole quite thorough it:  
And put therein a Quill of equal size,  
But take good heed the Cork you do not slit.  
Then round or square with Razor pair it near,  
Piramid-wise, or like a slender Pear.   

The smaller end doth serve to sink more light,  
Into the water with the Plummets sway;  
The greater swims aloft and stands upright,  
To keep the Line and Bait at even stay,  
That when the Fish gins to nib and bite,  
The moving of the float doth them bewray.  
These may you place upon your Lines at will,  
And stop them with a white and handsome Quill.   

Hooks.  
THen buy your Hooks the finest and the best  
That may be had of such as use to sell,  
And from the greatest to the very lest  
Of every sort pick out and choose them well,  
Such as in shape and making pass the rest.  
And do for strength and soundness most excel:  
Then in a little Box of dryest wood  
From rust and canker keep them saire and good.   

That Hook I love that is in compass round  
Like to the print that Pegasus did make,  
With horned hoof upon Thessalian ground;  
From whence forthwith Parnassus spring out broke,  
That doth in pleasant Waters so abound:  
And of the Muses oft the thirst doth slake,  
Who on his fruitful banks do sit and sing,  
That all the world of their sweet tunes doth ring.   

Or as Thaumantis, when she list to shroud  
Herself against the parching sunny ray,  
Under the mantle of some stormy cloud,  
Where she her sundry colours doth display  
Like juno's Bird, of her fair garments proud,  
That Phoebus gave her on her marriage day:  
Shows forth her goodly Circle far and wide,  
To mortal wights that wonder at her pride.   

His Shank should neither be to short nor long,  
His point not oversharp, nor yet too dull:  
The substance good that may endure from wrong;  
His Needle slender, yet both round and full,  
Made of the right Iberian metal strong,  
That will not stretch nor break at every pull,  
Wrought smooth and clean withouten crack or knot  
And bearded like the wild Arabian goat.   

Then let your Hook be sure and strongly placed  
Unto your lowest Link with Silk or Hair,  
Which you may do with often overcaste,  
So that you draw the Bouts together near,  
And with both ends make all the other fast,  
That no bare place or rising knot appear:  
Then on that Link hang Leads of even weight  
To raise your float, and carry down your bait.   

Thus have you Rod, Line, Float, and Hooke;  
The Rod to strike, when you shall think it fit,  
The Line to lead the Fish with wary skill,  
The Float and Quill to warn you of the bit;  
The Hook to hold him by the chap or gill,  
Hooke, Line, and Rod, all guided to your wit.  
Yet there remains of Fishing tools to tell,  
Some other sorts that you must have as well.   

Other fishing Tools.  
ALittle Board, the lightest you can find,  
But not so thin that it will break or bend;  
Of Cypress sweet, or of some other kind,  
That like a Trencher shall itself extend:  
Made smooth and plain, your Lines thereon to wind,  
With Battlements at every other end:  
Like to the Bulwark of some ancient Town,  
As well-wald Sylchester now razed down.   

A Shoe to bear the crawling Worms therein,  
With hole above to hang it by your side,  
A hollow Cane that must be light and thin,  
Wherein the Bobb and Palmer shall abide,  
Which must be stopped with an handsome pin,  
Lest out again your baits do hap to slide.  
A little Box that covered close shall lie,  
To keep therein the busy winged Fly.   

Then must you have a Plummet, form round,  
Like to the Pellet of a birding Bow:  
Wherewith you may the secretest waters sound,  
And set your float thereafter high, or low,  
Till you the depth thereof have truly found:  
And on the same a twisted thread bestow  
At your own will, to hang it on your hook,  
And so to let it down into the Brook.   

Of Led likewise, yet must you have a Ring,  
Whose whole Diameter in length contains  
Three Inches full, and fastened to a string  
That must belong and sure, if need constrains:  
Through whose round hole you shall your Angle bring,  
And let it fall into the watery plain:  
Until he come the weeds and sticks unto,  
From whence your hook it serveth to undo.   

Have Tools good store to serve your turn withal,  
Lest that you happen some to lose or break;  
As in great waters oft it doth befall,  
When that the Hook is nought or Line too weak.  
And waxed thread, or silk, so it be small  
To set them on, that if you list to wreak  
Your former loss, you may supply the place,  
And not return with sorrow and disgrace.   

Have twist likewise, so that it be not white,  
Your Rod to mend, or broken top to tie;  
For all white colours do the Fishes fright,  
And make them from the bait away to fly;  
A File to mend your hooks, both small and light,  
A good sharp knife, your Girdle hanging by:  
A Pouch with many parts and purses thin,  
To carry all your Tools and trinkets in.   

Yet must you have a little Rip beside,  
Of Willow twigs, the finest you can wish;  
Which shall be made so handsome and so wide  
As may contain good store of sundry Fish:  
And yet with ease be hanged by your side,  
To bring them home the better to your dish.  
A little Net that on a Pole shall stand,  
The mighty Pike or heavy carp to Land.   

His sever all Tools, and what garment is fittest.  
ANd let you garments Russet be or grey,  
Of colour dark, and hardest to descry;  
That with the Rain or weather will away,  
And lest offend the fearful Fish's eye:  
For neither Scarlet nor rich cloth of ray,  
Nor colours dipped in fresh Assyrian dye,  
Nor tender silks, of Purple, Paul, or gold,  
Will serve so well to keep off wet or cold.   

In this array the Angler good shall go  
Unto the Brook, to find his wished game;  
Like old Menaleus wandering to and fro,  
Until he chance to light upon the same,  
And there his art and cunning shall bestow,  
For every Fish his bait so well to frame,  
That long ere Phoebus set in Western some,  
He shall return well loaden to his home.   

Objection.  
SOme youthful Gallant here perhaps will say,  
This is no pastime for a gentleman.  
It were more fit at cards and dice to play,  
To use both fence and dancing now and than,  
Or walk the streets in nice and strange Array,  
Or with coy phrases court his Mistress fan,  
A poor delight with toil and painful watch,  
With loss of time a silly Fish to catch.   

What pleasure can it be to walk about,  
The fields and meads in heat or pinching cold?  
And stand all day to catch a silly Trout,  
That is not worth a taster to be sold,  
And peradventure sometimes go without,  
Besides the tolls and troubles manifold,  
And to be washed with many a shower of rain,  
Before he can return from thence again?   

More ease it were, and more delight I trow,  
In some sweet house to pass the time away,  
Amongst the best, with brave and gallant show,  
And with fair dames to dance, to sport and play,  
And on the board, the nimble dice to throw,  
That brings in gain, and helps the shot to pay,  
And with good wine and store of dainty fare,  
To feed at will and take but little care.   

The Answer.  
I Mean not here men's errors to reprove,  
Nor do envy their seeming happy state;  
But rather marvel why they do not love  
An honest sport that is without debate;  
Since their abused pastimes often move  
Their minds to anger and to mortal hate:  
And as in bad delights their time they spend,  
So oft it brings them to no better end.   

Indeed it is a life of lesser pain,  
To sit at play from noon till it be night:  
And then from night till it be noon again,  
With damned oaths, pronounced in despite,  
For little cause and every trifle vain,  
To curse, to brawl, to quarrel, and to fight,  
To pack the Cards, and with some cozening trick  
His fellows Purse of all his coin to pick.   

Or to beguile another of his Wife,  
As did Aeghistus Agamemnon serve:  
Or as that Roman 
* Nero.  Monarch led a life  
To spoil and spend, while others pine and starve,  
And to compel their friends with foolish strife,  
To take more drink than will their health preserve:  
And to conclude, for debt or just desert,  
In base tune to sing the Counterpart.   

O let me rather on the pleasant Brink  
Of Tyne and Trent possess some dwelling place;  
Where I may see my Quill and Cork down sink,  
With eager bit of Barbill, Bleike, or Dace:  
And on the World and his Creator think,  
While they proud Thais painted sheet embrace.  
And with the fume of strong Tobacco's smoke,  
All quaffing round are ready for to choke.   

Let them that list these pastimes than pursue,  
And on their pleasing fancies feed their fill;  
So I the Fields and Meadows green may view,  
And by the rivers fresh may walk at will,  
Among the Dayzes and the Violets blew:  
Red Hyacinth, and yellow Daffodil,  
Purple Narcissus, like the morning rays,  
Pale Ganderglas, and azour Culuerkayes.   

I count it better pleasure to behold  
The goodly compass of the lofty Sky,  
And in the midst thereof like burning gold  
The flaming Chariot of the world's great eye;  
The watery clouds that in the air uprold  
With sundry kinds of painted colours fly:  
And fair Aurora lifting up her head,  
All blushing rise from old Thitonus bed.   

The hills and Mountains raised from the Plains,  
The plains extended level with the ground,  
The ground divided into sundry veins,  
The veins enclosed with running rivers round,  
The rivers making way through nature's chain,  
With headlong course into the sea profound:  
The surging sea beneath the valleys low,  
The valleys sweet, and lakes that lovely flow.   

The lofty woods the forests wide and long,  
Adorned with leaves and branches fresh and green,  
In whose cool bowers the birds with chanting song,  
Do welcome with their choir the Summer's Queen,  
The meadows fair where Flora's gifts among,  
Are intermixed the verdant grass between,  
The silver scaled fish that softly swim,  
Within the brooks and Crystal watery brim.   

All these and many more of his creation,  
That made the heavens, the Angler oft doth see,  
And takes therein no little delectation,  
To think how strange and wonderful they be,  
Framing thereof an inward contemplation,  
To set his thoughts from other fancies free,  
And whiles he looks on these with joyful eye,  
His mind is rapt above the starry sky.   

The Author of Angling.  
But how this Art of Angling did begin,  
And who the use thereof and practise found,  
How many times and ages since have been,  
Wherein the sun hath daily compassed round,  
The circle that the signs twice six are in:  
And yielded yearly comfort to the ground,  
It were too hard for me to bring about,  
Since Ovid wrote not all that story out.   

Yet to content the willing Readers ear,  
I will not spare the sad report to tell,  
When good Deucalion and his Pirrha dear,  
Were only left upon the earth to dwell  
Of all the rest that overwhelmed were  
With that great flood, that in their days befell,  
Wherein the compass of the world so round,  
Both man and beast with waters deep were drowned.   

Between themselves they wept and made great moan,  
How to repair again the woeful fall,  
Of all mankind, whereof they two alone  
The remnant were, and wretched portion small,  
But any means or hope in them was none,  
That might restore so great a loss with all,  
Since they were aged, and in years so run,  
That now almost their thread of life was spun.   

Until at last they saw where as there stood  
An ancient Temple, wasted and forlorn;  
Whose holy fires and sundry offerings good,  
The late outrageous waves away had borne:  
But when at length down fallen was the flood,  
The waters low it proudly 'gan to scorn.  
Unto that place they thought it best to go,  
The counsel of the Goddess thereto know.   

For long before that fearful Deluge great,  
The universal Earth had overflown;  
A heavenly power there placed had her seat,  
And answers gave of hidden things unknown.  
Thither they went her favour to entreat,  
Whose fame throughout that coast abroad was blown  
By her advice some way or mean to find,  
How to renew the race of human kind.   

Prostrate they fell upon the sacred ground,  
Kissing the stones, and shedding many a tear;  
And lowly bend their aged bodies down  
Unto the earth, with sad and heavy cheer:  
Praying the Saint with soft and doleful sound  
That she vouchsafe their humble suit to hear.  
The Goddess heard, and bade them go and take,  
Their mother's bones, & throw behind their back.   

This Oracle obscure, and dark of sense,  
Amazed much their minds with fear and doubt,  
What kind of meaning might be drawn from thence;  
And how to understand and find it out,  
How with so great a sin they might dispense  
Their Parents bones to cast and throw about:  
Thus when they had long time in study spent,  
Out of the Church with careful thought they went.   

And now beholding better every place,  
Each Hill and Dale, each River, Rock, and Tree;  
And musing thereupon a little space,  
They thought the Earth their mother well might be,  
And that the stones that lay before their face,  
To be her bones did nothing disagree:  
Wherefore to prove if it were false or true,  
The scattered stones behind their backs they threw.   

Forthwith the stones (a wondrous thing to hear,  
Began to move as they had life conceived,  
And waxed greater than at first they were;  
And more and more the shape of man received,  
Till every part most plainly did appear,  
That neither eye nor sense could be deceived:  
They heard, they spoke, they went, and walked too,  
As other living men are wont to do.   

Thus was the earth replenished a new,  
With people strange, sprung up with little pain,  
Of whose increase the progeny that grew,  
Did soon supply the empty world again;  
But now a greater care there did ensue,  
How such a mighty number to maintain,  
Since food there was not any to be found,  
For that great flood had all destroyed and drowned.   

Then did Deucalion first the Art invent  
Of Angling, and his people taught the same;  
And to the Woods and groves with them he went  
Fit tools to find for this most needful game;  
There from the trees the longest rinds they rend,  
Wherewith strong Lines they roughly twist and frame,  
And of each crook of hardest Bush and Brake,  
They made them Hooks the hungry Fish to take.   

And to entice them to the eager bit,  
Dead frogs and flies of sundry sorts he took;  
And snails and worms such as he found most fit,  
Wherein to hide the close and deadly hook:  
And thus with practice and inventive wit,  
He found the means in every lake and brook  
Such store of Fish to take with little pain,  
As did long time this people new sustain.   

In this rude sort began this simple Art,  
And so remained in that first age of old,  
When Saturn did Amalthea's horn impart  
Unto the world, that then was all of Gold;  
The Fish as yet had felt but little smart,  
And were to bite more eager, apt, and bold:  
And plenty still supplied the place again  
Of woeful want, whereof we now complain.   

But when in time the fear and dread of man  
Fell more and more on every living thing,  
And all the creatures of the world began  
To stand in awe of this usurping King,  
Whose tyranny so far extended than  
That Earth and Seas it did in thraldom bring;  
It was a work of greater pain and skill,  
The wary Fish in lake or Brook to kill.   

So worse and worse two ages more did pass,  
Yet still this Art more perfect daily grew,  
For then the slender Rod invented was,  
Of finer sort then former ages knew,  
And Hooks were made of silver and of brass,  
And Lines of Hemp and Flax were framed new,  
And sundry baits experience found out more,  
Then elder times did know or try before.   

But at the last the Iron age drew near,  
Of all the rest the hardest, and most scant,  
Then Lines were made of Silk and subtle hair  
And Rods of lightest Cane and hazel plant,  
And Hooks of hardest steel invented were,  
That neither skill nor workmanship did want,  
And so this Art did in the end attain  
Unto that state where now it doth remain.   

But here my weary Muse a while must rest,  
That is not used to so long a way;  
And breath, or pause a little at the least  
At this Land's end, until another day,  
And then again, if so she think it best:  
Our taken-taske afresh we will assay,  
And forward go as first we did intend,  
Till that we come unto our journeys end.   
The end of the first Book.   

The second Book.  

BEfore, I taught what kind of tools were fit  
For him to have that would an Angler be:  
And how he should with practice & with wit  
Provide himself thereof in best degree:  
Now doth remain to show how to the bit  
The Fishes may be brought, that erst were free,  
And with what pleasing baits enticed they are,  
To swallow down the hidden Hook unware.   

Baits.  
IT were not meet to send a Huntsman out  
Into the Woods, with Net, with Gin, or Hay,  
To trace the brakes and bushes all about,  
The Stag, the Fox, or Badger to betray:  
If having found his game, he stand in doubt  
Which way to pitch, or where his snares to lay,  
And with what train he may entice withal  
The fearful beast into his trap to fall.   

So, though the Angler have good store of tools,  
And them with skill in finest sort can frame;  
Yet when he comes to Rivers, Lakes, and Pools,  
If that he know not how to use the same,  
And with what baits to make the Fish's fools,  
He may go home as wise as out he came,  
And of his coming boast himself as well  
As he that from his father's Chariot fell.   

Not that I take upon me to impart  
More then by others hath before been told;  
Or that the hidden secrets of this Art  
I would unto the vulgar sort unfold,  
Who peradventure for my pains desert  
Would count me worthy balam's horse to hold:  
But only to the willing learner show  
So much thereof as may suffice to know.   

But here, O Neptune, that with triple Mace  
Dost rule the raging of the Ocean wide;  
I meddle not with thy deformed race  
Of monsters huge, that in those waves abide:  
With that great Whale, that by three whole days space  
The man of God did in his belly hide,  
And cast him out upon the Euxin shore,  
As safe and sound as he had been before.   

Nor with that Ork that on Cephaean strand  
Would have devoured Andromeda the fair,  
Whom Perseus slew with strong and valiant hand,  
Delivering her from danger and despair,  
The Hurlepoole huge that higher than the land,  
Whole streams of water spouteth in the air,  
The Porpois large that playing swims on high,  
Portending storms or other tempests nigh.   

Nor that admirer of sweet Musics sound,  
That on his back Arion bore away;  
And brought to shore out of the Seas profound,  
The Hippotame that like an horse doth neigh,  
The Mors, that from the rocks enrolled round,  
Within his teeth himself doth safe convey:  
The Tortoise covered with his target hard,  
The Tuberone attended with his guard.   

Nor with that Fish that beareth in his snout  
A ragged sword, his foes to spoil and kill;  
Nor that fierce Thrasher, that doth fling about  
His nimble flail, and handles him at will:  
The ravenous Shark that with the sweep out  
And filth of ships doth oft his belly fill.  
The Albacore that followeth night and day  
The flying Fish, and takes them for his prey.   

The Crocodile that weeps when he doth wrong,  
The Hollibut that hurts the appetite,  
The Turbot broad, the Sceale, the Sturgeon strong,  
The Cod and Cozze, that greedy are to bite,  
The Haake, the Haddock, and Conger long,  
The yellow Ling, the Milwell fair and white,  
The spreading Ray, the Thornback thin and flat,  
The boisterous Base, the hoggish Tunny fat.   

These kinds of Fish that are so large of size,  
And many more that here I leave untold  
Shall go for me, and all the rest likewise  
That are the flock of Proteus watery fold:  
For well I think my Hooks would not suffice,  
Nor slender Lines, the least of these to hold.  
I leave them therefore to the surging Seas,  
In that huge depth, to wander at their ease.   

And speak of such as in the fresh are found,  
The little Roach, the Menise biting fast,  
The slimy Tench, the slender Smelled and round,  
The Umber sweet, the graveling good of taste,  
The wholesome Ruff, the barbil not so sound,  
The Perch and Pike that all the rest do waste,  
The Bream, the carp, the Chubb and Chavendar,  
And many more that in fresh waters are.   

Sat then Thalia on some pleasant bank,  
Among so many as fair Auon hath,  
And mark the Anglers how they march in rank,  
Some out of Bristol, some from healthful Bath;  
How all the rivers sides along they flank,  
And through the Meadows make their wont path:  
See how their wit and cunning they apply,  
To catch the Fish that in the waters lie.   

For the Goodgion.  
Lo, in a little Boat where one doth stand,  
That to a Willow Bough the while is tied,  
And with a pole doth stir and raise the sand;  
Where as the gentle stream doth softly slide,  
And then with slender Line and Rod in hand,  
The eager bit not long he doth abide.  
Well leaded is his Line, his Hook but small,  
A good big Cork to bear the stream withal.   

His bait the least red worm that may be found,  
And at the bottom it doth always lie;  
Whereat the greedy Goodgion bites so sound  
That Hooke and all he swalloweth by and by:  
See how he strikes, and pulls them up as round  
As if new store the play did still supply.  
And when the bit doth die or bad doth prove,  
Then to another place he doth remove.   

This Fish the fittest for a learner is  
That in this Art delights to take some pain;  
For as high flying Hawks that often miss  
The swifter fowls, are eased with a train,  
So to a young beginner yieldeth this,  
Such ready sport as makes him prove again,  
And leads him on with hope and glad desire,  
To greater skill, and cunning to aspire.   

For the Roche.  
THen see on yonder side, where one doth sit  
With Line well twisted, and his Hook but small;  
His Cork not big, his Plummets round and fit,  
His bait of finest paste, a little ball  
Wherewith he doth entice unto the bit,  
The careless Roche, that soon is caught withal:  
Within a foot the same doth reach the ground,  
And with least touch the float strait sinketh down.   

And as a skilful Fowler that doth use,  
The flying Birds of any kind to take,  
The fittest and the best doth always choose,  
Of many sorts a pleasing stolen to make,  
Which if he doth perceive they do refuse,  
And of mislike abandon and forsake,  
To win their love again, and get their grace  
Forthwith doth put another in the place.   

So for the Roach more baits he hath beside,  
As of a sheep the thick congealed blood,  
Which on a board he useth to divide  
In portions small, to make them fit and good,  
That better on his hook they may abide:  
And of the wasp the white and tender brood,  
And worms that breed on every herb and tree,  
And sundry flies that quick and lively be.   

For the Dace.  
THen look where as that Poplar grey doth grow,  
Hard by the same where one doth closely stand,  
And with the wind his Hook and bait doth throw  
Amid the stream with slender hazel wand,  
Where as he sees the Dace themselves do show,  
His eye is quick, and ready is his hand,  
And when the Fish doth rise to catch the bait,  
He presently doth strike, and takes her straight.   

O worlds deceit! how are we thralled by thee,  
That dost thy gall in sweetest pleasures hide?  
When most we think in happiest state to be,  
Then do we soonest into danger slide,  
Behold the Fish that even now was free,  
Unto the deadly hook how he is tied,  
So vain delights allure us to the snare,  
Wherein unwares we fast entangled are.   

For the carp.  
But now again see where another stands,  
And strains his rod that double seems to bend,  
Lo how he leads and guides him with his hands,  
Lest that his line should break or Angle rend,  
Then with a Net see how at last he lands,  
A mighty carp and has him in the end,  
So large he is of body, scale, and bone,  
That rod and all had like to have been gone.   

Mark what a line he hath, well made and strong,  
Of Bucephall, or Bayards strongest hair,  
Twisted with green or watched silk among,  
Like hardest twine, that holds th' entangled Dear,  
Not any force of Fish will do it wrong,  
In Tyne, or Trent, or Thame he needs not fear:  
The knots of every link are knit so sure,  
That many a pluck and pull they may endure.   

His cork is large, made handsome, smooth, and fine,  
The leads according, close, and fit thereto,  
A good round hook set on with silkentwine,  
That will not slip nor easily undo:  
His bait great worms that long in moss have been,  
Which by his side he beareth in a shoe.  
Or paste wherewith he feeds him oft before,  
That at the bottom lies a foot or more.   

For the Chubb and Trout.  
SEe where another hides himself as sly,  
As did Actaeon, or the fearful Deer;  
Behind a withy, and with watchful eye  
Attends the bit within the water clear,  
And on the top thereof doth move his fly,  
With skilful hand, as if he living were.  
Lo how the Chubb, the roche, the Dace, and Trout,  
To catch thereat do gaze and swim about.   

His Rod, or Cane, made dark for being seen,  
The less to fear the wary Fish withal:  
His Line well twisted is, and wrought so clean  
That being strong, yet doth it show but small,  
His Hook not great, nor little, but between,  
That light upon the watery brim may fall,  
The Line in length scant half the Rod exceeds,  
And neither Cork, nor Lead thereon it needs.   

For the Trout, and Eel.  
NOw see some standing where the stream doth fall,  
With headlong course behind the sturdy were,  
That overthwart the river, like a wall,  
The water stops, and strongly up doth bear,  
And at the Tails, of Mills and Arches small,  
Whereas the shoot is swift and not too clear,  
Their lines in length not twice above an ell,  
But with good store of lead and twisted well.   

Round handsome hooks that will not break nor bend,  
The big red worm, well scoured, is their bait,  
Which down unto the bottom doth descend,  
Whereas the Trout and Eel doth lie in wait,  
And to their feeding busily intent,  
Which when they see they snatch and swallow strait.  
Upon their lines is neither Cork nor Quill,  
But when they feel them pluck then strike they still.   

For the Sewant and Flounder  
BEhold some others ranged all along,  
To take the Sewant, yea, the Flounder sweet,  
That to the bank in deepest places throng,  
To shun the swifter stream that runs so fleet,  
And lie and feed the brackish waves among,  
Whereas the waters fresh and salt do meet:  
And there the Eel and Shad sometimes is caught,  
That with the tide into the brooks are brought.   

But by the way it shall not be amiss,  
To understand that in the waters grey,  
Of floating Fish, two sundry kinds there is,  
The one that lives by raven and by pray,  
And of the weaker sort, now that, now this,  
He bites, and spoils, and kills, and bears away,  
And in his greedy gullet doth devour,  
As Sulla's gulf, a ship within his power.   

And these have wider mouths to catch and take  
Their flying prey, whom swiftly they pursue,  
And rows of teeth like to a saw or rake,  
Wherewith their got game they bite and chew,  
And greater speed within the waters make,  
To set upon the other simple crew,  
And as the grayhound steals upon the hare,  
So do they use to rush on them unware.   

Unequal Fate, that some are borne to be  
Fearful and mild, and for the rest a pray,  
And others are ordained to live more free,  
Without control or danger any way:  
So doth the Fox the Lamb destroy we see,  
The Lion fierce, the Beaver, Roe, or Grace,  
The Hawk, the foul, the greater wrong the less,  
The lofty proud, the lowly poor oppress.   

For the Pike or Perch.  
NOw for to take these kind of Fish with all,  
It shallbe needful to have still in store,  
Some living baits as Bleiks, and roaches small,  
Goodgion, or Loach, not taken long before,  
Or yellow Frogs that in the waters crawl,  
But all alive they must be evermore:  
For as for baits that dead and dull do lie,  
They least esteem and set but little by.   

But take good heed your line be sure and strong,  
The knots will knit, and of the soundest hair,  
Twisted with some well coloured silk among,  
And that you have no need your Rod to fear:  
For these great Fish will strive and struggle long,  
Rod, line, and all into the stream to bear.  
And that your hook be not too small and weak,  
Lest that it chance to stretch, or hap to break.   

And as in Arden or the mountains hoar,  
Of Appemmie or craggy Alps among,  
The mastiffs fierce that hunt the bristled Boar,  
Are harnessed with curates light and strong,  
So for these Fish, your line a foot or more,  
Must armed be with thinnest plate along,  
Or slender wire well fastened thereunto,  
That will not slip nor easily undo.   

The other kind that are unlike to these  
Do live by corn or any other seed:  
Sometimes by crumbs of bread, of paste or cheese,  
Or grasshoppers that in green meadows breed,  
With brood of wasps, of hornets, doors or bees,  
Lip berries from the briar bush or weed,  
Blood worms, and snails, or crawling jentiles small.  
And buzzing flies that on the waters fall.   

All these are good, and many others more,  
To make fit baits to take these kind of Fish,  
So that some fair deep place you feed before,  
A day or two, with pail, with bowl, or dish;  
And of these meats do use to throw in store,  
Then shall you have them bite as you would wish:  
And ready sport to take your pleasure still,  
Of any sort that best you like to kill.   

Thus serving them as often as you may,  
But once a week at least it must be done,  
If that to bite they make too long delay,  
As by your sport may be perceived soon:  
Then some great Fish doth fear the rest away,  
Whose fellowship and company they shun:  
Who neither in the bait doth take delight,  
Nor yet will suffer them that would to bite.   

For this you must a remedy provide,  
Some Roche or Bleike, as I have show'd before,  
Beneath whose upper fin you close shall hide  
Of all your Hook the better half and more,  
And though the point appear or may be spied,  
It makes no matter any whit therefore:  
But let him fall into the watery brim,  
And down unto the bottom softly swim.   

And when you see your Cork begin to move,  
And round about to soar and fetch a ring,  
Sometime to sink, and sometime swim above,  
As doth the Duck within the watty spring,  
Yet make no haste your present hap to prove,  
Till with your float at last away he fling,  
Then may you safely strike and hold him short,  
And at your will prolong or end your sport.   

But every Fish loves not each bait alike,  
Although sometime they feed upon the same;  
But some do one, and some another seek,  
As best unto their appetite doth frame,  
The roche, the Bream, the carp, the Chubb, and Bleik.  
With paste or Corn their greedy hunger tame,  
The Dace, the Ruff, the Goodgion and the rest,  
The smaller sort of crawling worms love best.   

The Chavender and Chubb do more delight  
To feed on tender Cheese, or Cherries red,  
Black snails, their bellies slit to show their white,  
Or Grasshoppers that skip in every Mead;  
The Perch, the Tench, and Eel, do rather bite  
At great red worms, in Field or Garden bred,  
That have been scoured in moss or Fenell rough,  
To rid their filth, and make them hard and tough.   

And with this bait hath often taken been  
The Salmon fair, of River-fish the best;  
The Shad, that in the Spring time cometh in,  
The Suant swift, that is not set by least,  
The Bocher sweet, the pleasant Flounder thin,  
The Peele, the Tweat, the Botling, and the rest,  
With many more, that in the deep doth lie  
Of Auon, Vske, of Severne, and of Wye.   

Alike they bite, alike they pull down low  
The sinking Cork that strives to rise again,  
And when they feel the sudden deadly blow,  
Alike they shun the danger and the pain:  
And as an arrow from the Scythian bow,  
All flee alike into the stream amain,  
Until the Angler by his wary skill,  
There tires them out, and brings them up at will.   

Yet furthermore it doth behove to know,  
That for the most part Fish do seek their food  
Upon the ground, or deepest bottom low,  
Or at the top of water, stream, or flood;  
And so you must your hook and bait bestow,  
For in the midst you shall do little good,  
For heavy things down to the bottom fall,  
And light do swim, and seldom sink at all.   

All Summer long aloft the Fishes swim,  
Delighted with fair Phoebus' shining ray,  
And lie in wait within the waters dim  
For flies and gnats that on the top do play,  
Then half a yard beneath the upper brim  
It shall be best your baited Hook to lay,  
With gnat or fly of any sort or kind,  
That every month on Leaves or Trees you find.   

But then your Line must have no Lead at all,  
And but a slender Cork, or little Quill,  
To stay the bait that down it do not fall,  
But hang a Link within the water still,  
Or else upon the top thereof you shall  
With quicker hand, and with more ready skill  
Let fall your fly, and now and then remove,  
Which soon the Fish will find and better love.   

And in the stream likewise they use to be  
At tails of floudyates, or at Arches wide;  
Or shallow flats, whereas the waters free  
With fresher springs and swifter course do slide:  
And then of Wasp, the brood that cannot fly  
Upon a Tyle-stone first a little dried,  
Or yellow bobs turned up before the Plough,  
Are chiefest baits, with Cork and Lead enough.   

But when the golden Chariot of the Sun,  
Departing from our Northern countries far  
Beyond the balance, now his course hath run,  
And goes to warm the cold Antarticque star,  
And Summer's heat is almost spent and done,  
With new approach of Winter's dreadful war:  
Then do the Fish withdraw into the deep,  
And low from sight and cold more close do keep.   

Then on your Lines you may have store of Lead,  
And bigger Corks of any size you will,  
And where the Fish are used to be fed  
There shall you lay upon the bottom still,  
And whether that your bait be Corn, or bread,  
Or Worms, or Paste, it doth not greatly skill,  
For these alone are to be used then,  
Until the spring or summer come again.   

Thus have I show'd how Fish of divers kind  
Best taken are, and how their baits to know;  
But Phoebus now beyond the Western Ind;  
Beginneth to descend and draweth low,  
And well the weather serves and gentle wind  
Down with the tide and pleasant stream to row,  
Unto some place where we may rest us in,  
Until we shall another time begin.   
The end of the second Book.   

The third Book.  

NOw falls it out in order to declare,  
What time is best to Angle in aright;  
And when the chief and fittest seasons are  
Wherein the fish are most disposed to bite,  
What wind doth make, and which again doth mar  
The Anglers sport, wherein he takes delight,  
And how he may with pleasure best aspire,  
Unto the wished end of his desire.   

For there are times in which they will not bite,  
But do forbear and from their food refrain,  
And days there are wherein they more delight  
To labour for the same and bite amain;  
So, he that can those seasons find aright  
Shall not repent his travel spent in vain,  
To walk a mile or two amidst the fields,  
Reaping the fruit this harmless pleasure yields.   

And as a ship in safe and quiet road  
Under some hill or harbour doth abide,  
With all her freight, her tackling, and her load,  
Attending still the wind and wished tide,  
Which when it serves, no longer makes abode,  
But forth into the watery deep doth slide,  
And through the waves divides her fairest way  
Unto the place where she intends to stay.   

So must the Angler be provided still,  
Of divers tools, and sundry baits in store;  
And all things else pertaining to his skill,  
Which he shall get and lay up long before,  
That when the weather frameth to his will,  
He may be well appointed evermore  
To take fit time when it is offered ever,  
For time in one estate abideth never.   

The qualities of an Angler.  
But ere I further go, it shall behove  
To show what gifts and qualities of mind  
Belongs to him that doth this pastime love;  
And what the virtues are of every kind  
Without the which it were in vain to prove,  
Or to expect the pleasure he should find,  
No more than he that having store of meat  
Hath lost all lust and appetite to eat.   

For what avails to Brook or Lake to go,  
With handsome Rods and Hooks of divers sort,  
Well twisted Lines, and many trinkets more,  
To find the Fish within their watery fort,  
If that the mind be not contended so,  
But wants those gifts that should the rest support.  
And make his pleasure to his thoughts agree,  
With these therefore he must endued be.   

The first is Faith, not wavering and unstable,  
But such as had that holy Patriarch old,  
That to the highest was so acceptable  
As his increase and offspring manifold  
Exceeded far the stars innumerable,  
So must he still a firm persuasion hold,  
That where as waters, brooks, and lakes are found,  
There store of Fish without all doubt abound.   

For nature that hath made no empty thing,  
But all her works doth well and wisely frame,  
Hath filled each Brook, each River, Lake and Spring  
With creatures, apt to live amidst the same;  
Even as the earth, the air, and seas do bring  
Forth Beasts, and Birds of sundry sort and name,  
And given them shape, ability, and sense,  
To live and dwell therein without offence.   

The second gift and quality is Hope,  
The Anchor-holde of every hard desire;  
That having of the day so large a scope,  
He shall in time to wished hap aspire,  
And ere the Sun hath left the heavenly cope  
Obtain the sport and game he doth desire,  
And that the Fish though sometime slow to bite,  
Will recompense delay with more delight.   

The third is Love, and liking to the game,  
And to his friend and neighbour dwelling by;  
For greedy pleasure not to spoil the same,  
Nor of his Fish some portion to deny  
To any that are sickly, weak, or lame,  
But rather with his Line and Angle try  
In Pond or Brooke, to do what in him lies,  
To take such store for them as may suffice.   

Then followeth Patience, that the furious flame  
Of Choler cools, and Passion puts to flight,  
As doth a skilful rider break and tame,  
The Courser wild, and teach him tread aright:  
So patience doth the mind dispose and frame,  
To take mishaps in worth, and count them light,  
As loss of Fish, Line, Hooke, or Led, or all,  
Or other chance that often may befall.   

The fist good gift is low Humility,  
As when a Lion coucheth for his prey  
So must he stoop or kneel upon his knee,  
To save his line or put the weeds away,  
Or lie along sometime if need there be,  
For any let or chance that happen may,  
And not to scorn to take a little pain,  
To serve his turn his pleasure to obtain.   

The sixth is painful strength and courage good,  
The greatest to encounter in the Brook,  
If that he happen in his angry mood,  
To snatch your bait, and bear away your Hook  
With wary skill to rule him in the Flood,  
Until more quiet, tame, and mild he look,  
And all adventures constantly to bear,  
That may betide without mistrust or fear.   

Next unto this is Liberality,  
Feeding them oft with full and plenteous hand,  
Of all the rest a needful quality,  
To draw them near the place where you will stand,  
Like to the ancient hospitality,  
That sometime dwelled in Albion's fertile land,  
But now is sent away into exile,  
Beyond the bounds of Issabellas' Isle,   

The eight is knowledge how to find the way  
To make them bite when they are dull and slow,  
And what doth let the same and breeds delay,  
And every like impediment to know,  
That keeps them from their food and wanted pray,  
Within the stream, or standing waters low,  
And with experience skilfully to prove,  
All other faults to mend or to remove.   

The ninth is placabillitie of mind,  
Contented with a reasonable dish,  
Yea though sometimes no sport at all he find,  
Or that the weather prove not to his wish.  
The tenth is thanks to that God, of each kind,  
To net and bait doth send both foul and Fish,  
And still reserve enough in secret store,  
To please the rich, and to relieve the poor.   

Th' eleventh good gift and hardest to endure,  
Is fasting long from all superfluous fare,  
Unto the which he must himself enure,  
By exercise and use of diet spare,  
And with the liquor of the waters pure,  
Acquaint himself if he cannot forbear,  
And never on his greedy belly think,  
From rising sun until a low he sink.   

The twelfth and last of all is memory,  
Remembering well before he setteth out,  
Each needful thing that he must occupy,  
And not to stand of any want in doubt,  
Or leave something behind forgetfully:  
When he hath walked the fields and broke about,  
It were a grief back to return again,  
For things forgot that should his sport maintain.   

Here than you see what kind of qualities,  
An Angler should endued be with all,  
Besides his skill and other properties,  
To serve his turn, as to his lot doth fall:  
But now what season for this exercise,  
The fittest is and which doth serve but small,  
My Muse vouchsafe some little aid to lend,  
To bring this also to the wished end.   

Season and time not to Angle.  
FIrst, if the weather be to dry and hot,  
And scalds with scorching heat the lowly plain,  
As if that youthful Phaeton had got,  
The guiding of his father's Cart again,  
Or that it seemed Apolle had forgot  
His light foot steeds to rule with steadfast rain,  
It is not good with any line or Hook,  
To Angle then in river, pond, or brook.   

Or When cold Boreas with his frosty beard,  
Looks out from underneath the lesser bear,  
And makes the weary travailer afeard,  
To see the valleys covered every where  
With Ice and Snow, that late so green appeared,  
The waters stand as if of steel they wear:  
And hoary frosts do hang on every bough,  
Where freshest leaves of summer late did grow.   

So neither if Don Aeolus let's go,  
His blustering winds out of the hollow deep,  
Where he their strife and struggling to and fro  
With triple fork doth still in order keep,  
They rushing forth do rage with tempests so,  
As if they would the world together sweep,  
And ruffling so with sturdy blasts they blow,  
That tree and house sometimes they over throw.   

Besides when shepherds and the swains prepare,  
Unto the brooks with all their flocks of sheep,  
To wash their fleeces and to make them fair,  
In every pool and running water deep,  
The savour of the wool doth so impair,  
The pleasant streams, and plunging that they keep,  
As if that Lethe-floud ran every where,  
Or bitter Doris intermingled were.   

Or when land floods through long and sudden rain,  
Descending from the hills and higher ground,  
The sand and mud the crystal streams do stain,  
And make them rise above their wont bound,  
To over flow the fields and neighbour plain,  
The fruitful soil and Meadows fair are drowned,  
The husbandman doth lose his grass and hay,  
The banks their trees, and bridges borne away.   

So when the leaves begin to fall apace,  
And bough and branch are naked to be seen,  
While nature doth her former work deface,  
Unclothing bush, and tree, of summer's green,  
Whose scattered spoils lie thick in every place,  
As sands on shore or stars the poles between,  
And top and bottom of the rivers fill,  
To Angle then I also think it ill.   

All winds are hurtful if too hard they blow,  
The worst of all is that out of the East,  
Whose nature makes the Fish to biting slow,  
And lets the pastime most of all the rest,  
The next that comes from countries clad with Snow,  
And Articque pole is not offensive least,  
The Southern wind is counted best of all,  
Then, that which riseth where the sun doth fall.   

Best times and season to Angle.  
But if the weather steadfast be and clear,  
Or overcast with clouds, so it be dry,  
And that no sign nor token there appear,  
Of threatening storm through all the empty sky,  
But that the air is claim and void of fear,  
Of ruffling winds or raging tempests hie,  
Or that with mild and gentle gale they blow,  
Then is it good unto the brook to go,   

And when the floods are fallen and passed away,  
And carried have the dregs into the deep,  
And that the waters wax more thin and grey,  
And leave their banks above them high and steep,  
The milder stream of colour like to whey,  
Within his bounds his wont course doth keep,  
And that the wind is South or else by-West,  
To Angle then is time and seasons best   

When fair Aurora rising early shows  
Her blushing face beyond the Eastern hills,  
And dies the heavenly vault with purple rows,  
That far abroad the world with brightness fills,  
The Meadows green are hoar with silver dews,  
That on the earth the sable night distilleth,  
And chanting birds with merry notes bewray,  
The near approaching of the cheerful day.   

Then let him go to River, Brook, or Lake,  
That loves the sport, where store of Fish abound,  
And through the pleasant fields his journey make,  
Amidst sweet Pastures, Meadows fresh and sound,  
Where he may best his choice of pastime take,  
While swift Hyperion runs his circle round;  
And as the place shall to his liking prove,  
There still remain or further else remove.   

To know each Fishes haunt.  
NOw that the Angler may the better know  
Where he may find each Fish he doth require,  
Since some delight in waters still and slow,  
And some do love the Mud and slimy mire;  
Some others where the stream doth swifter flow,  
Some stony ground, and gravel some desire,  
Here shall he learn how every sort do seek,  
To haunt the Layre that doth his nature like.   

carp, Eel, and Tench, do love a muddy ground,  
Eels under stones or hollow roots do lie;  
The Tench among thick weeds is soon found,  
The fearful carp into the deep doth fly,  
Bream, Chubb and Pike, where clay and sand abound,  
Pike loves great pools, and places full of fry:  
The Chubb delights in stream or shady tree,  
And tender bream in broadest lake to be.   

The Salmon swift the rivers sweet doth like,  
Where largest streams into the Sea are led:  
The spotted Trout the smaller Brooks doth seek,  
And in the deepest hole there hides his head:  
The prickled Perch in every hollow creak,  
Hard by the bank, and sandy shore is fed.  
Perch, Trout, and Salmon love clear waters all,  
Green weedy rocks, and stony gravel small.   

So doth the Bulhead, Goodgion, and the Loach,  
Who most in shallow Brooks delight to be,  
The Ruff, the Dace, the barbil and the Roach,  
Gravel and sand do love in less degree,  
But to the deep and shade do more approach,  
And overhead some covert love to see,  
Of spreading Poplar, Oak or Willow green,  
Where underneath they lurk for being seen.   

The mighty Luce great waters haunts always,  
And in the stillest place thereof doth lie,  
Save when he rangeth forth to seek his prey,  
And swift among the feerefull fish doth fly,  
The dainty Humber loves the marley clay,  
And clearest streams of champion country high,  
And in the chiefest pools thereof doth rest,  
Where he is soonest found and taken best.   

The Chavender amidst the waters fair,  
In swiftest streams doth most himself bestow,  
The Shad and Tweat do rather like the lair,  
Of brackish waves, where it doth ebb and flow,  
And thither also doth the flock repair,  
And flat upon the bottom lieth low,  
The Peele, the Mullet and the Suant good  
Do like the same, and therein seek their food.   

But here experience doth my skill exceed,  
Since divers Countries divers Rivers have;  
And divers rivers change of waters breed,  
And change of waters sundry Fish doth crave,  
And sundry Fish in divers places feed,  
As best doth like them in the liquid wave,  
So that by use and practice may be known,  
More than by art or skill can well be shown.   

So than it shall be needless to declare,  
What sundry kinds there lie in secret store,  
And where they do resort, and what they are,  
That may be still discovered more and more:  
Let him that list no pain nor travel spare  
To seek them out, as I have done before,  
And then it shall not discontent his mind,  
New choice of place, and change of game to find.   

The best hours of the day to Angle.  
FRom first appearing of the rising Sun,  
Till nine of clock low under water best  
The Fish will bite, and then from nine to noon,  
From noon to four they do refrain and rest,  
From four again till Phoebus' swift hath run,  
His daily course, and setteth in the West:  
But at the fly aloft they use to bite,  
All summer long from nine till it be night.   

Now lest the Angler leave his Tools behind,  
For lack of heed or haste of his desire,  
And so enforced with unwilling mind,  
Must leave his game and back again retire,  
Such things to fetch as there he cannot find  
To serve his turn when need shall most require,  
Here shall he have to help his memory,  
A lesson short of every wants supply.   

Light Rod to strike, long line to reach withal,  
Strong hook to hold the fish he haps to hit,  
Spare Lines and Hooks, what ever chance do fall,  
Baits quick and dead to bring them to the bit,  
Fine Lead and Quills with Corks both great and small,  
Knife, File and thread, and little Basket fit,  
Plummets to sound the depth of clay and sand,  
With Pole and Net to bring them safe to land.   

And now we are arrived at the last,  
In wished harbour where we mean to rest;  
And make an end of this our journey past:  
Here then in quiet road I think it best  
We strike our sails and steadfast Anchor cast  
For now the Sun low setteth in the West,  
And ye Boat-Swaines, a merry Carol sing,  
To him that safely did us hither bring.   
FINIS.   


Wouldst thou catch Fish?  
Then here's thy wish;  
Take this receipt,  
To anoint thy Bait.   

THou that desir'st to fish with Line and Hooke,  
Be it in pool, in River, or in Brook,  
To bliss thy bait, and make the Fish to bite:  
Lo, here's a means, if thou canst hit it right,  
Take Gum of life, fine beat, and laid in soak  
In Oil, well drawn from that which kills the Oak,  
Fish where thou wilt, thou shalt have sport thy fill,  
When twenty fail, thou shalt be sure to kill.   

Probatum.  
It's perfect and good,  
If well understood;  
Else not to be told  
For Silver or Gold.   
B. R.  
FINIS.