with his Bible before him, and on one hand of him his lines, hooks, and other tackling lying in a round; and on his other hand are his Angle-rods of several sorts and by them this is written, “ That " he died 13 Feb. 1601, being aged 95 years, 44 of "which he had been Dean of St. Paul's Church ; " and that his age had neither impaired his hearing,

nor dimmed his eyes, nor weakened his memory, "nor made any of the faculties of his mind weak "or useless." 'Tis said that Angling and Temperance were great causes of these blessings, and I wish the like to all that imitate him, and love the memory of so good a man.

My next and last example shall be that undervaluer of money, the late Provost of Eton College, Sir Henry Wotton, a man with whom I have often fished and conversed, a man whose foreign employments in the service of this nation, and whose experience, learning, wit, and cheerfulness, made his company to be esteemed one of the delights of mankind: this man, whose very approbation of Angling were sufficient to convince any modest censurer of it, this man was also a most dear lover, and a frequent practiser of the Art of Angling; of which he would say, " 'Twas an employment for his idle "time, which was then not idly spent:" for Angling was, after tedious study, "a rest to his mind, a "cheerer of his spirits, a diverter of sadness, a "calmer of unquiet thoughts, a moderator of pas"sions, a procurer of contentedness:" and " "that

G

"it begat habits of peace and patience in those "that professed and practised it." Indeed, my friend, you will find Angling to be like the virtue of Humility, which has a calmness of spirit, and a world of other blessings attending upon it.

Sir, this was the saying of that learned man, and I do easily believe that peace, and patience, and a calm content, did cohabit in the cheerful heart of Sir Henry Wotton, because I know that when he was beyond seventy years of age, he made this description of a part of the present pleasure that possessed him, as he sat quietly in a Summer's evening on a bank a-fishing; it is a description of the Spring, which, because it glided as soft and sweetly from his pen, as that river does at this time, by which it was then made, I shall repeat it unto you.

This day dame Nature seem'd in love :
The lusty sap began to move;

Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines,
And birds had drawn their valentines,
The jealous Trout, that low did lie,
Rose at a well dissembled fly;

There stood my friend with patient skill,
Attending of his trembling quill.
Already were the eaves possest

With the swift Pilgrim's daubed nest :

The groves already did rejoice,

In Philomel's triumphing voice:

The showers were short, the weather mild,

The morning fresh, the evening smil'd.

Joan takes her neat rub'd pail, and now
She trips to milk the sand-red cow;
Where, for some sturdy foot-ball swain,
Joan strokes a syllabub or twain,
The fields and gardens were beset
With Tulips, Crocus, Violet ;

And now, though late, the modest rose
Did more than half a blush disclose.
Thus all looks gay, and full of cheer,
To welcome the new-livery'd year.

These were the thoughts that then possessed the undisturbed mind of Sir Henry Wotton. Will you hear the wish of another Angler, and the commendation of his happy life, which he also sings in verse? viz. Jo. Davors, Esq.;

Let me live harmlessly, and near the brink
Of Trent or Avon, have a dwelling place;
Where I may see my quill or cork down sink
With eager bite of Perch, or Bleak, or Dace,
And on the World and my Creator think;
Whilst some men strive ill-gotten goods t' embrace
And others spend their time in base excess
Of wine, or worse, in war and wantonness.

Let them that list, these pastimes still pursue,
And on such pleasing fancies feed their fill,
So I the Fields and Meadows green may view,
And daily by fresh Rivers walk at will,

Among the Daisies and the Violets blue,
Red Hyacinth, and yellow Daffodil,

Purple Narcissus like the morning rays
Pale Gander-grass, and azure Culverkeys.

I count it higher pleasure to behold
The stately 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 up roll'd,
With sundry kinds of painted colours fly,
And fair Aurora lifting up her heaḍ,
Still blushing, rise from old Tithonus' bed.

The hills and mountains raised from the plains,
The plains extended level with the ground,
The grounds divided into sundry veins,
The veins enclos'd with rivers running round;
These rivers making way through Nature's chains
With headlong course into the seu profound;
The raging sea, beneath the vallies low,
Where lakes, and rills, and rivulets. do flow.

The lofty woods, the forests wide and long, Adorn'd with leaves and branches fresh and green, In whose cool bowers the birds with many a song Do welcome with their quire the Summer's Queen : The meadows fair where Flora's gifts among Are intermix'd, with verdant grass between. The silver-scaled fish that softly swim

Within the sweet brook's chrystal watery stream.

All these, and many more of his creation
That made the heavens, the Angler oft doth see ;
Taking therein no little delectation,

To think how strange, how wonderful they be:
Framing thereof an inward contemplation,
To set his heart from other fancies free;

And whilst he looks on these with joyful eye,
His mind is rapt above the starry sky.

Sir, I am glad my memory has not lost these last verses, because they are somewhat more pleasant and more suitable to May-day, than my harsh discourse, and I am glad your patience hath held out so long, as to hear them and me: for both together have brought us within the sight of the Thatchedhouse and I must be your debtor, if you think it worth your attention, for the rest of my promised discourse, till some other opportunity, and a like time of leisure.

VEN. Sir, you have Angled me on with much pleasure to the Thatched-house: and I now find your words true, "That good company makes the way

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seem short;" for trust me, Sir, I thought we had wanted three miles of this house till you shewed it to me but now we are at it, we'll turn into it, and refresh ourselves with a cup of drink and a little

rest.

Pisc. Most gladly, Sir, and we'll drink a civil cup to all the Otter-hunters that are to meet you

to-morrow.