Jokes upon

the Perseverance and long-suffering, so frequently announced, without any solid Reward of Capture; among others, this appeared.

It chanced that an ANGLER, who liv'd in Cheapside,
With new Tackle and nice lively Bait,

On a Fishing Excursion to Putney Bridge hied,
And there in a Punt, at the due time of Tide,
Expectant and watchful, he sat.

That Patience is Virtue the Proverb declares,
And our Sportsman gave practical proof:
For tho' he display'd all his craftiest Snares,
Tho' his Hooks were conceal'd and his Lines single hairs,
The curs'd Fish still kept swimming aloof.

* The celebrated Dr. FRANKLIN, to whom we were formerly indebted, for an Instance of the Angler's Patience, wrote this EPITAPH upon himself, many Years previous to his Death.

The BODY
of

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, Printer,

(Like the Cover of an old Book,
Its Contents torn out,

And stript of its Lettering and Gilding,)
Lies here Food for WORMS;

Yet the Work itself shall not be lost;

For it will appear once more,
In a new

And more beautiful EDITION,

Corrected and amended
by the

AUTHOR.

M M

At length he grew hungry, and weary, and wet,
For the Punt was both leaky and cranky;
And tho' he with caution each tempting Bait set,
Not a Minnow, a Roach, or an Eel could he get,
For they all seem'd to say, "No- I thank'ee!"

A Wag on the Bridge said, "No longer contend,
For you've dev'lish bad luck below, Brother;
And the Fault's in your Rod-(for I speak as a Friend)
Tho' 'tis certainly true, there's a Worm at one End,
Yet a Fool scares the Fish, at the Other!"

As a Contrast to the needful Quality of Patience, in a Brother of the Angle, Mrs. WELLS, in her Memoirs, gives the following curious finale of her Moorish Husband, SUMBELL:"After his hasty flight from this Country, he went to Altona, in DENMARK, where he built a large Street at his own Expence, and where, for the last few Years of his Life, his sole Amusement was fishing. He had a very long Room built for the purpose, in which was a large Reservoir of Water, ' that contained Fish of different Descriptions; and he would sit whole Days angling therein. If the Fish did not bite quick enough, to suit his Moorish Temper, the Water was let off, when they were beaten to Pieces: and oft-times his Domestics, partook of this Chastisement."

In Contradiction to this ferocious ANGLER, we insert a Fisherman's Story, paraphrased by Mr. ROBERTSON of York, in which is shewn, that Compassion and Mercy, sometimes meet with unexpected temporal Rewards.

Unknowing and unknown to Fame,
An honest Clown-DORUS his Name,
With fraudful line and baited hook,
Near the Sea-shore his Station took,
In hopes the Cravings to supply
Of a large helpless family:

But FORTUNE, who her favour sheds
Seldom upon deserving heads,

On DORUS glanc'd with scornful spite;
No prize-not ev'n a single Bite.
Tir'd with ill-luck, he now despairs,
And for a hungry Home prepares:
When, to his joy and great Surprise,
He feels a Fish of monstrous Size;
(So flatters smiling Hope)—when, lo—
FORTUNE again appears his Foe;
He drags on shore with cautious pull-
A Fish;-Ah no-a HUMAN SKULL;
A ghastly and forbidden Treat,
Improper food for him to eat:
What can he do? shall he again

Commit his captive to the Main?
But here Humanity prevails,

And Piety his Heart assails;

"Who knows," cries DORUS with a Sigh,

(A Heart-sprung tear in either Eye)

But this might once a portion be
Of some poor Spouse or Sire like me;
On whose Endeavours a large Brood
Of little ones might hang for Food;
Shipwreck'd, perhaps, in sight of Land,
Or murder'd by some Villain's hand;
My duty and my Feelings too
Strongly evince what I should do;
The Kindness which to him I shew,
Perhaps to others I may owe."

So said, away the SKULL he bears,
And in the Wood a Grave prepares;
He digs his Heart dilates with pleasure
To find a heaven-sent golden Treasure;
A Treasure to his utmost Wishes,
Superior to ten thousand Fishes;
With which he joyous marches Home,
The SKULL bequeathing in its Room.

Those Hearts that with Humanity distend,
IN PROVIDENCE are sure to meet a Friend;
And the same Love we to our Brethren show
Our HEAVENLY FATHER, will on us bestow.

The Author of the Song here recited, is a little severe in his Advice, to the Angler.

You that fish for Dace and Roches,
Carpes or Tenches, Bonus noches,

Thou wast borne betweene two Dishes,
When the Fryday Signe was Fishes.
Angler's Yeares are made and spent,
All in Ember weekes and Lent.

CHORUS.

Break thy Rod about thy Noddle,
Throw thy Wormes and Flies by the pottle,
Keepe thy Corke to stop thy Bottle,
Make straight thy Hooke, and be not afeard,
To shave his Beard;

That in case of started stitches

Hooke and Line may mend thy Breeches.

He that searches Pools and Dikes,
Halters Jackes, and strangles Pikes,

Let him know, though he think he wise is, 'Tis not a Sport, but an Assizes.

Fish so tooke, were the Case disputed,

Are not tooke, but executed.

Break thy Rod, &c.

You whose Pastes for Rivers throat,
And make Isis pay her groat,
That from May to parch October,
Scarce a Minew can slepe sober.
Be your Fish in Oven thrust,

And your owne Red-paste the Crust.

Breake thy Rod, &c.

Hooks and lines of larger Sizes,

Such as the Tyrant that troules devises,

Fishes nere beleive his Fable,

What he calls a Line's, a Cable;

That's a Knave of endlesse Rancor,

Who for a Hooke doth cast an Anchor.

Breake thy Rod, &c.

But of all Men he is the Cheater,

Who with small Fish takes the greater,