And some delight to me the while,
Tho' nature now does weep in rain,
To think that I have seen her smile,
And haply may I do again.

If the all-ruling power please,
We live to see another May,
We'll recompence an age of these
Foul days, in one fine fishing day.

We then shall have a day or two,
Perhaps a week, wherein to try
What the best master's hand can do,
With the most deadly killing flie:

A day, with not too bright a beam,
A warm, but not a scorching sun,
A southern gale to curl the stream,
And, master, half our work is done.

There, whilst behind some bush we wait,
The scaly people to betray,
We'll prove it just, with treach'rous bait,
To make the quick-ey'd trout our prey.

And think ourselves in such an hour,
Happier than those, tho' not so high,
Who, like leviathans, devour
Of meaner men the smaller fry.

This, my best friend, at my poor home,
Shall be our pastime and our theme;
But then shou'd you not deign to come,
You make all this a flatt'ring dream.

Complete Angler.

SONG.

LIKE hermit poor, in pensive place obscure,
I mean to spend my days of endless doubt;
To wait such woes as time cannot recure,
Where none but love shall ever find me out:
And at my gates despair shall linger still,
To let in death, when love anl fortune will,

A gown of grey my body shall attire,

My staff, of broken hope, whereon I'll stay,
Of late repentance link'd with long desire,

The couch is fram'd whereon my limbs I'll lay:
And at my gates, &c.

My food shall be of care and sorrow made,

My drink nought else but tears fall'n from mine eyes,

And for my light in this obscure shade,

The flames may serve which from my heart arise. And at my gates, &c.

SONG.

My mind to me a kingdom is,
Such perfect joy therein I find,
As far excels all earthly bliss

That God or nature hath assign'd.
Tho' much I want that most wou'd have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay,

I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway; Look what I lack my mind supplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plenty surfeits oft,
And hasty climbers soonest fall;
I see that such as sit aloft,

Mishap doth threaten most of all : These get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind could never bear.

No princely pomp, or wealthy store,

No force to win a victory,

No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a lover's eye:

H

To none of these I yield as thrall;
For why? my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave,

I little have, yet seek no more :
They are but poor, though much they have;
And I am rich with little store:

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss;

I grudge not at another's gain :
No worldly wave my mind can toss;

I brook what is another's bane:
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;
I loath not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health, and perfect ease;
My conscience clear, my chief defence:
I never seek by bribes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die:
Would all did so as well as I!

I joy not in no earthly bliss;

I weigh not Cræsus's wealth a straw : For care, I care not what it is;

I fear not fortune's fatal law: My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seek for more;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;
In greatest storms I sit on shore,
And laugh at them that toil in vain
To get what must be lost again.

I kiss not where I wish to kill;

I feign not love where most I hate;

I break no sleep to win my will;

I wait not at the mighty's gate;

I scorn no poor, I fear no rich;
I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court, ne cart, I like ne loath,
Extremes are counted worst of all;
The golden mean betwixt them both
Doth surest fit, and fears no fall.
This is my choice: for why? I find
No wealth is like a quiet mind.

Calliope, a Collection of Songs.

'CONTENT.

HEAV'N, what an age is this! what race
Of giants is sprung up that dare

Thus fly in the Almighty's face,

And with his providence make war!

H2

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1949 A