O THE gallant fisher's life,
—It is the best of any!
'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife,
—And 'tis beloved by many;
———Other joys
———Are but toys;
———Only this
———Lawful is;
———For our skill
———Breeds no ill,
—But content and pleasure.

In a morning, up we rise,
—Ere Aurora's peeping;
Drink a cup to wash our eyes,
—Leave the sluggard sleeping;
———Then we go
———To and fro,
———With our knacks
———At our backs,
———To such streams
———As the Thames,
—If we have the leisure.

When we please to walk abroad
—For our recreation,
In the fields is our abode,
—Full of delectation,
———Where, in a brook,
———With a hook,—
———Or a lake,—
———Fish we take;
———There we sit,
———For a bit,
—Till we fish entangle.

We have gentles in a horn,
—We have paste and worms too;
We can watch both night and morn,
—Suffer rain and storms too;
———None do here
———Use to swear:
———Oaths do fray
———Fish away;
———We sit still,
———Watch our quill:
—Fishers must not wrangle.

If the sun's excessive heat
—Make our bodies swelter,
To an osier hedge we get,
—For a friendly shelter;
———Where, in a dike,
———Perch or pike,
———Roach or dace,
———We do chase,
———Bleak or gudgeon,
———Without grudging;
—We are still contented.

Or we sometimes pass an hour
—Under a green willow,
That defends us from a shower,
—Making earth our pillow;
———Where we may
———Think and pray,
———Before death
———Stops our breath;
———Other joys
———Are but toys,
—And to be lamented.