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;
No begging wants his middle fortune bite:
But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.
His certain life, that never can deceive him,
Is full of thousand sweets and rich content
The smooth-leav'd beeches in the field receive him,
With coolest shade, till noon-tide's heat be spent.
His life is neither tost in boisterous, seas,
Or the vexatious world, or lost in slothful ease;
Please 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 teas place
His little son into his bosom creeps,
The lively picture of his father's face.
His humble house or poor state ne'er torment him
Less he could like, if less his God had lent him;
And when he dies, green turfs do for a tomb content him,
Gentlemen, these were a part of the thoughts that then possessed me.
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.
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