* these, and many other field flowers, so perfumed the air, that I thought that very meadow like that field in Sicily of which Diodorus speaks, where the perfumes arising from the place make all dogs that hunt in it to fall off, and to lose their hottest scent. I say, as I thus sat, joying in my own happy condition, and pitying this poor rich man that owned this and many other pleasant groves and meadows about me, I did thankfully remember what my Saviour said, that the meek possess the earth; or rather, they enjoy what the others possess, and enjoy not; for anglers and meek, quiet-spirited men are free from those high, those restless thoughts, which corrode the sweets of life; and they, and they only, can say, as the poet has happily exprest it— Hail! blest estate of lowliness; Can, like the reeds, in roughest winds, There came also into my mind at that time certain verses in praise of a mean estate and humble mind: they were written by Phineas Fletcher,† an excellent divine, and an excellent angler; and the author of excellent "Piscatory Eclogues," in which you shall see the picture of this good man's mind and I wish mine to be like it. No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright; Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content; Or the vexatious world, or lost in slothful ease; Pleas'd and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. His bed, more safe than soft, yields quiet sleeps, While by his side his faithful spouse has place; His little son into his bosom creeps, The lively picture of his father's face. VARIATION. 1 for indeed they are free from those high, those restless thoughts, &c.-1st and 2d edit. *Diodorus Siculus, lib. v. 3. p. 331, vol. i. ed. Wessellingii. He is thus noticed in the second edition, where this poem first occurs, "written by Phineas Fletcher, an excellent Angler, who in his Purple Island has so excellently imitated our Spenser's Fairie Queen. No empty hopes," &c. Phineas Fletcher was the son of Giles Fietcher, Doctor of Laws, and ambassador from Queen Elizabeth to the Duke of Muscovy. He was fellow of King's College, Cambridge, and the author of an allegorical poem, entitled the Purple Island, printed at Cambridge, with other of his poems, in 4to, 1633; from whence the passage in the text, with a little variation, is taken. M me. His humble house or poor state ne'er torment him; And when he dies, green turfs do for a tomb content him. * Gentlemen, these were a part of the thoughts that then possessed And I there made a conversion of a piece of an old catch,* and added more to it, fitting them to be sung by us anglers. Come, master, you can sing well: you must sing a part of it, as it is in this paper. Man's life is but vain; for 'tis subject to pain, And sorrow, and short as a bubble; 'Tis a hodge-podge of business, and money, and care, But we'll take no care when the weather proves fair; We'll banish all sorrow, and sing till to-morrow, pain, And sor-row, and short as a bubble; 'Tis a hodge-podge of bus'-ness, and mon-ey, and care, And care, and mon-ey, and trouble. * The song here sung can in no sense of the word be termed a Catch. It was probably set to music at the request of Walton, and is to be found in a book, entitled Select Ayres and Dialogues for one, two, and three Voyces: to the Theorbo-Lute and Basse Viol. By John Wilson and Charles Coleman, doctors in music, Henry Lawes and others. Fol. London, 1659. It occurs in the first edition of Walton's book, published in 1653.-H. But we'll take no care when the wea - ther proves fair; Nor will we vex now though it rain; We'll banish all sorrow, and sing till tomorrow, And angle, and an - gle a · gain. PETER. I marry, Sir, this is music indeed; this has cheer'd my heart, and made me remember six verses in praise of music, which I will speak to you instantly. VENATOR. Music! miraculous rhetoric, that speak'st sense With what ease might thy errors be exchis'd, Wert thou as truly lov'd as th' art abus'd! But though dull souls neglect, and some reprove thee, I cannot hate thee, 'cause the Angels love thee.* And the repetition of these last verses of music has called to my memory what Mr Edmund Waller, a lover of the angle, says of love and music. * See these Verses, with some small variation, at the end of the book, entitled Select Ayres and Dialogues, referred to from pa. 200, n.; with "W. D. knight," under the bottom line, which I take to signify that they were written by Sir William Davenant. -H. + In a poem "Of my Lady Isabella [Thynne] playing on the lute," Waller again praises music in the following words : Such moving sounds, from such a careless touch! What art is this, that with so little pains And tell their joy for ev'ry kiss aloud: Small force there needs to make them tremble so; PISCATOR. Whilst I listen to thy voice, That powerful voice 3 Peace, Chloris! peace, or singing die, To heaven may go; For all we know Of what the blessed do above, Is that they sing, and that they love. Well remembered, brother Peter; these verses came seasonably, and we thank you heartily. Come, we will all join together, my host and all, and sing my scholar's catch over again; and then each man drink the tother cup, and to bed; and thank God we have a dry house over our heads. PISCATOR. Well, now, good-night to everybody. PETER. And so say I. VENATOR. And so say I. Good-night to you all; and I thank you. CORIDON. VARIATIONS.] 2 In Waller's Poems, "life." 3 "noise." Here love takes stand, and while she charms the ear, So Nero once, with harp in hand, survey'd His flaming Rome, and as it burn'd he play'd. Some unpublished verses by Waller, addressed "To a Lady Fishing," preserved in MS. late in the Royal Society, will be given in the additional notes. |