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The Third Book.
<poem> Now falls it out in order to declare What time is best to angle in aright; And when the chief and fittest seasons are Wherein the fish are most disposed to bite; What wind doth make, and which again
doth mar
The Angler's sport wherein he takes
delight;
And how he may with pleasure best
aspire
Unto the wishèd end of his desire.
For there are times in which they will not bite, But do forbear, and from their food refrain; And days there are wherein they more delight To labour for the same and bite amain: So he that can those seasons find aright Shall not repent his travail spent in vain,
To walk a mile or two amidst the fields Reaping the fruit this harmless pleasure yields.
- <poem>
