Piscator. Look you, scholar; you see I have hold of a good fish: I now
see it is a Trout.
I pray, put that net under him; and touch not my line, for if you do, then
we break all. Well done, scholar: I thank you.
Now for another. Trust me, I have another bite. Come, scholar, come
lay down your rod, and help me to land this as you did the other. So
now we shall be sure to have a good dish of fish for supper.
Venator. I am glad of that: but I have no fortune: sure, master, yours is a
better rod and better tackling.
Piscator. Nay, then, take mine; and I will fish with yours. Look you,
scholar, I have another. Come, do as you did before. And now I have a
bite at another. Oh me! he has broke all: there's half a line and a good
hook lost.
Venator. Ay, and a good Trout too.
Piscator. Nay, the Trout is not lost; for pray take notice, no man can
lose what he never had.
Venator. Master, I can neither catch with the first nor second angle: I
have no fortune.
Piscator. Look you, scholar, I have yet another. And now, having caught
three brace of Trouts, I will tell you a short tale as we walk towards our
breakfast. A scholar, a preacher I should say, that was to preach to
procure the approbation of a parish that he might be their lecturer, had
got from his fellow-pupil the copy of a sermon that was first preached
with great commendation by him that composed it: and though the
borrower of it preached it, word for word, as it was at first, yet it was
utterly disliked as it was preached by the second to his congregation,
which the sermon-borrower complained of to the lender of it: and was
thus answered: " I lent you, indeed, my fiddle, but not my fiddle-stick;
for you are to know, that every one cannot make musick with my
words, which are fitted for my own mouth".
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