THE ANGLER
When saucy Celia came my way
I knew my sport was ended,
So ceased my cunning rod to play,
Since she the fish befriended.
Across my eyes her tangled locks
She bound with childish laughter,
“Here is the shadow, sir,” said she;
“Now, who doth follow after?”
“'Tis saucy Celia, she,” quoth I,
“Who comes all uninvited;
And with much noisy merriment
Hath all my fish affrighted!”
“Not so.” She pointed to the stream,
Where peeped her sweet reflection;
“If you would fish, good sir, behold,
There's fishing in perfection.”
I smiled upon her winsome face
And pulled the tresses straying.
“Nay, child,” I said, “the baby fish
Are never worth the slaying.”
Quick from my hand the lock she tore,
Her face was sore offended;
“Farewell,” she said, “thou foolish youth,
Our friendship is all ended.
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