_The_ vains _inclos'd with_ rivers _running round;
These_ rivers _making way through natures chains
With headlong course into the sea profound;
The raging sea, beneath the vallies low,
Where_ lakes, _and_ rils, _and_ rivulets _do flow.

The loftie woods, the Forrests wide and long
Adorn'd with leaves & branches fresh & green,
In whose cool bowres the birds with many a song
Do welcom with their Quire the Sumers_ Queen:
_The Meadows fair, where_ Flora's _gifts among
Are intermixt, with verdant grass between.
The silver-scaled fish that softly swim,
Within the sweet brooks chrystal watry stream.

All these, and many more of his Creation,
That made the Heavens, the Angler oft doth see,
Taking therein no little delectation,
To think how strange, how wonderful they be;
Framing thereof an inward contemplation,
To set his heart from other fancies free;
And whilst he looks on these with joyful eye,
His mind is rapt above the Starry Skie_.

Sir, I am glad my memory did not lose these last Verses, because they
are somewhat more pleasant and more sutable to _May Day_, then my harsh
Discourse, and I am glad your patience hath held out so long, as to
hear them and me; for both together have brought us within the sight of
the _Thatcht House_; and I must be your Debtor (if you think it worth
your attention) for the rest of my promised discourse, till some other