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And now, scholar, my direction for fly-fishing is ended with this
shower, for it has done raining. And now look about you, and see
how
pleasantly that meadow looks; nay, and the earth smells so sweetly
too.
Come let me tell you what holy Mr. Herbert says of such days and
flowers as these, and then we will thank God that we enjoy them,
and
walk to the river and sit down quietly, and try to catch the other
place
of Trouts.
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night,
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.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie;
My music shews you have your closes,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like season'd timber, never gives,
But when the whole world turns to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
Venator. I thank you, good master, for your good direction for
fly-
fishing, and for the sweet enjoyment of the pleasant day, which
is so far
spent without offence to God or man: and I thank you for the sweet
close of your discourse with Mr. Herbert's verses; who, I have
heard,
loved angling; and I do the rather believe it, because he had
a spirit
suitable to anglers, and to those primitive Christians that you
love, and
have so much commended.
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