<poem> You Nymphs that in the springs and waters sweet, Your dwelling have, of every hill and dale; And oft amidst the meadows green do meet To sport and play, and hear the nightingale; And in the rivers fresh, do wash your feet, While PROGNE'S sister tells her woeful tale:
Such aid and power unto my verses lend As may suffice this little work to end.
And thou sweet Boyd[1] that with thy wat'ry sway Dost wash the cliffs of Deington and of Week; And through their rocks with crooked winding way Thy mother Avon runnest soft to seek; In whose fair streams the speckled trout doth play, The roach, the dace, the gudgeon and the bleek:
Teach me the skill with slender line and hook To take each fish of river, pond and brook.The Time for providing Angle Rods.
<poem> First, when the sun beginneth to decline Southward his course, with his fair chariot bright; And passèd hath of heaven the middle line That makes of equal length both day and night; And left behind his back the dreadful sign Of cruel CENTAUR, slain in drunken fight;
When beasts do mourn and birds forsake their song, And every creature thinks the night too long.
And blust'ring BOREAS with his chilling cold, Unclothèd hath the trees of summer's green; And woods and groves are naked to behold, Of leaves and branches now despoilèd clean;
- <poem>
- ↑ The name of a brook.
