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Venator. Oh, Sir! a Chub is the worst fish that swims; I hoped
for a
Trout to my dinner.
Piscator. Trust me, Sir, there is not a likely place for a Trout
hereabout:
and we staid so long to take our leave of your huntsmen this morning,
that the sun is got so high, and shines so clear, that I will
not undertake
the catching of a Trout till evening. And though a Chub be, by
you and
many others, reckoned the worst of fish, yet you shall see I'll
make it a
good fish by dressing it.
Venator. Why, how will you dress him ?
Piscator. I'll tell you by-and-by, when I have caught him. Look
you here,
Sir, do you see? but you must stand very close, there lie upon
the top of
the water, in this very hole, twenty Chubs. I'll catch only one
and that
shall be the biggest of them all: and that I will do so, I'll
hold you
twenty to one, and you shall see it done.
Venator. Ay, marry! Sir, now you talk like an artist, and I'll
say you are
one, when I shall see you perform what you say you can do: but
I yet
doubt it.
Piscator. You shall not doubt it long; for you shall see me do
it
presently. Look ! the biggest of these Chubs has had some bruise
upon
his tail, by a Pike or some other accident; and that looks like
a white
spot. That very Chub I mean to put into your hands presently;
sit you
but down in the shade, and stay but a little while; and I'll warrant
you,
I'll bring him to you.
Venator. I'll sit down; and hope well, because you seem to be
so
confident.
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