Classic Poem

Now in case that my tale may to some appear dry,
I will draw some more-ales,--fine old ones, by the bye;
Though, I fear, there are many who will not admire them,
As they suit not those palates who mostly require them.
First, young gentlemen all, never mind what degree,
Whether lowly or high, or whoever you be,
If you're but fond of fishing, I beg that you'll tricks shun;
If you're not, you're beneath me and my jurisdiction.
Still I'll draw you a glass which will pay for inspection,
As whene'er it is looked at it yields some reflexion.
Though the draught may be bitter, the faculty back it,
So just make up your mind,--a bold face, and stomach it;
For there's more in the dose than aware of you are,
As the old ancient said when he poisoned his Ma.
My advice, if wishing
You are to go fishing,
Is beforehand permission to get
From your father, or master,
Or, if such things you past are,
You had better, I think, seek it yet
From the man in possession,
Who might use some expression
Unpolite, if by chance he you met
Treading down his long grass,
In your hurry to pass
To the river, your tackle to wet.
Oh, it vexes one sore to be ordered to go!
Quick to make one's self scarce! I have oft found it so;
And have felt much inclined, as I quarrelled with Fate,
To chuck in the old fellow instead of ground bait.
But, if haply you 'scape from his telescope sight
You will ever be losing some relishing bite
While your gazing around, as he probably might
(Popping upon you unseen), make you jump in a fright.

Now to those men who dare
Fish on Sundays--"Beware,"
I would say; "and take very great care
Lest a fish of great size,
Take you off by surprise,
And before you're aware should effect your demise."
But, a few words to anglers in general, still
I would say, ere my inkstand I close, then my quill
Must return to his duty, and figure away,
And keep humbly a-summing accounts which won't pay:
If a fish should get loose,
Which, p'rhaps, grumblers may choose,
From your line, what's the use,
May I ask, of abuse,
Though it may be the largest has broken away?
Will an oath for a moment persuade it to stay?
You remind me of perch, who, regardless of Fate,
Often bite at a hook though quite guiltless of bait;
So that anglers who angry become when they roam,
Lest their tempers they lose had best leave them at home.
As to low vulgar jests, which some think wit impart,
They appear like the muck which o'erflows a mud cart.
It is strange, though a fact, that a fisherman ever,
Although skilful he be, and remarkably clever,
Will be forced to confess, when by questions he's crossed,
That the largest of fish in its landing was lost.
Yes, 'tis always the best 'mong a number will stray,
Or get lost, let the articles be what they may.
I, in even a buss, have oft proved that 'tis so,
For the prettiest girl would be sure first to go.

But a few moments more
I for patience implore,--
In behalf of your victims I speak;
And would beg when you draw
Them up on to the shore,
You at once for their lifetime would seek.
Still, kind Reader, think not, though it so, p'rhaps, may look,
I'm like Johnson, who wrote out that fine-meaning book,
Who would angling define as a stick and a string,
Which a worm and a fool into close contact bring.
No! The sport I admire, and when the fish will but bite,
'Tis a feeling which almost amounts to delight.
Though a trifling addition will heighten, indeed,
The pleasure, I mean, if some nice girl would read
Out aloud by your side, and would shadow your eyes
From the sun, and away drive the flies
With her neat parasol. I have asked, but must state
I could never persuade one to stick on the bait.
Though some ladies I know who can pull out a fish
With as much skill and science as Walton could wish.

Kind Reader, now, my parting bow
With many thanks I make,
For patience shown; though, overgrown,
Much space the morals take.
Still, I beg to remark, they're not meant for you,
Who have quietly waded their deep meaning through,
But for those who exclaim, "O what humbug! what stuff!"
Who, though not at all wise, find one word quite enough.