The Angler's Song

AS inward love breeds outward talk,

The hound some praise, and some the hawk;

Some, better pleased with private sport,

Use tennis; some a mistress court;

     But these delights I neither wish

     Nor envy, while I freely fish.

Who hunts, doth oft in danger ride;

Who hawks, lures oft both far and wide;

Who uses games, shall often prove

A loser; but who falls in love

     Is fetter'd in fond Cupid's snare;

     My angle breeds me no such care.

Of recreation there is none

So free as fishing is alone;

All other pastimes do no less

Than mind and body both possess;

     My hand alone my work can do,

     So I can fish and study too.

I care not, I, to fish in seas --

Fresh rivers best my mind do please,

Whose sweet calm course I contemplate,

And seek in life to imitate:

     In civil bounds I fain would keep,

     And for my past offences weep.

And when the timorous trout I wait

To take, and he devours my bait,

How poor a thing, sometimes I find,

Will captivate a greedy mind;

     And when none bite, I praise the wise,

     Whom vain allurements ne'er surprise.

But yet, though while I fish I fast,

I make good fortune my repast;

And thereunto my friend invite,

In whom I more than that delight:

     Who is more welcome to my dish

     Than to my angle was my fish.

As well content no prize to take,

As use of taken prize to make:

For so our Lord was pleased, when

He fishers made fishers of men;

     Where (which is in no other game)

     A man may fish and praise His name.

The first men that our Saviour dear

Did choose to wait upon Him here,

Bless'd fishers were, and fish the last

Food was that He on earth did taste:

     I therefore strive to follow those

     Whom He to follow Him hath chose.

Izaak Walton