The Complete Angler, Or, Contemplative Mans Recreation: Being a Discourse on Rivers, Fish-ponds, Fish, and Fishing

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L.A. Lewis, 1839 - Fishes - 396 pages
 

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Page 75 - Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning : If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love.
Page 10 - Lord, what music hast thou provided for the saints in heaven, when thou affordest bad men such music on earth...
Page 74 - And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle...
Page 112 - Courts, I would rejoice ; Or, with my Bryan and a book, Loiter long days near Shawford brook ; There sit by him, and eat my meat ; There see the sun both rise and set ; There bid good morning to next day ; There meditate my time away ; And angle on, and beg to have A quiet passage to a welcome grave.
Page 108 - For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, — And thou must die.
Page 111 - And raise my low-pitch'd thoughts above Earth, or what poor mortals love : Thus, free from lawsuits and the noise Of princes' Courts, I would rejoice ; Or, with my Bryan and a book, Loiter long days near Shawford brook...
Page 246 - Go ! let the diving negro seek For gems hid in some forlorn creek ; We all pearls scorn, Save what the dewy morn Congeals upon each little spire of grass, Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass ; And gold ne'er here appears, Save what the yellow Ceres bears.
Page xxxi - HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill...
Page 76 - ... fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee and be thy love.
Page 255 - FAREWELL, thou busy world ! and may We never meet again : Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray, And do more good in one short day, Than he, who his whole age out-wears Upon the most conspicuous theatres, Where nought but vanity and vice appears.

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