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.