Piscator. Well then, here s to you, Coridon; and now for my song.

O the gallant Fisher's life,
It is the best of any;
'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife,
And 'tis beloved of many:
Other joys
Are but toys;
Only this
Lawful is;
For our skill
Breeds no ill,
But content and pleasure.

In a morning up we rise
Ere Aurora's peeping,
Drink a cup to wash our eyes.
Leave the sluggard sleeping;
Then we go
To and fro,
With our knacks
At our backs
To such streams
As the Thames
If we have the leisure.

When we please to walk abroad
For our recreation,
In the fields is our abode,
Full of delectation: