I did thankfully remember what my Saviour said, that _the meek
possess the earth_; for indeed they are free from those high, those
restless thoughts and contentions which corrode the sweets of life. For
they, and they only, can say as the Poet has happily exprest it.

Hail blest estate of poverty!
Happy enjoyment of such minds,
As rich in low contentedness.
Can, like the reeds in roughest winds,
By yeelding make that blow but smal
At which proud Oaks and Cedars fal.

Gentlemen, these were a part of the thoughts that then possest me, and
I there made a conversion of a piece of an old Ketch, and added more to
it, fitting them to be sung by us Anglers: Come, Master, you can sing
well, you must sing a part of it as it is in this paper.

[Illustration: Music

_The ANGLERS Song._

_For two Voyces, Treble and Basso. Mr. Henry Lawes._

_CANTUS._

Man's life is but vain;
for 'tis subject to pain,
and sorrow, and short as a buble;
'tis a hodge podge of business,
and mony, and care;
and care, and mony, and trouble.
But we'l take no care
when the weather proves fair,
nor will we vex now though it rain;
we'l banish all sorrow,
and sing till tomorrow,
and Angle, and Angle again.

_BASSUS._

[On following page, with lyrics as above.]]

_Pet._ I marry Sir, this is Musick indeed, this has cheered my heart,
and made me to remember six Verses in praise of Musick, which I will
speak to you instantly.

Musick, miraculous Rhetorick, that speak'st sense
Without a tongue, excelling eloquence;
With what ease might thy errors be excus'd
Wert thou as truly lov'd as th'art abus'd.
But though dull souls neglect, and some reprove thee,
I cannot hate thee, 'cause the Angels love thee.

_Piscat._ Well remembred, brother _Peter_, these Verses came
seasonably. Come, we will all joine together, mine Hoste and all, and
sing my Scholers Ketch over again, and then each man drink the tother
cup and to bed, and thank God we have a dry house over our heads.

_Pisc._ Well now, good night to every body.

_Pet._ And so say I.

_Viat._ And so say I.

_Cor._ Good night to you all, and I thank you.

_Pisc._ Good morrow brother _Peter_, and the like to you, honest
_Coridon_; come, my Hostis sayes there's seven shillings to pay, lets
each man drink a pot for his mornings draught, and lay downe his two
shillings, that so my Hostis may not h