Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Fishermen

The Fishermen.

Trout and Trot.

Tom Trout, by native industry was taught
The various arts—how fishes may be caught,
To baskets oft he'd pliant oziers turn,
Where they might entrance find—but no return,
But when he would a quick destruction make,
And from afar much larger booty take,
Through the quick stream he'd very shrewdly set,
From side to side, his strong capacious net,
And then his rustic crew, with mighty poles,
Compelled the fish to quit their oozy holes;
And then pursued them down the rolling flood,
Gasping for breath, and almost choked with mud.

Dick Trot, who lived below—ne'er thought his beer
Was good, except he had his water clear—
He goes to Trout, and thus begins his tale:—
"Ah! if you knew but how the people rail;
They cannot boil, nor wash, nor brew, they say,
With water, sometimes ink, and sometimes whey;
According as you meet with mud or clay.
Now is it not a dismal thing to think
How we Old Trots must live, and have no drink?
Therefore, my friend, some other method take
Of fishing, were it only for our sake."

Says Trout, "I'm sorry it should be my lot,
Ever to disoblige my neighbour Trot;
The fault's not mine—'tis Fortune that thus tries one;
You know, 'what's one man's meat's another's poison.'
Therefore, in patience rest, though I proceed:
There's no ill-nature in the case—but need.
Though for your use this water may not serve,
I'd rather you should choke than I should starve.