ith glue and water, boiled
together until the glue be dissolved, and the size of a lie colour;
then strike your size upon the wood with a bristle brush or pensil,
whilst it is hot: that being quite dry, take white lead, and a little
red lead, and a little cole black, so much as all together will make an
ash colour, grind these all together with Linseed oyle, let it be
thick, and lay it thin upon the wood with a brush or pensil, this do
for the ground of any colour to lie upon wood.

_For a Green._

Take Pink and Verdigreece, and grind them together in Linseed oyl, as
thick as you can well grind it, then lay it smoothly on with your
brush, and drive it thin, once doing for the most part will serve, if
you lay it wel, and be sure your first colour be thoroughly dry, before
you lay on a second.

Well, Scholer, you now see _Totenham_, and I am weary, and therefore
glad that we are so near it; but if I were to walk many more days with
you, I could stil be telling you more and more of the mysterious Art of
Angling; but I wil hope for another opportunitie, and then I wil
acquaint you with many more, both necessary and true observations
concerning fish and fishing: but now no more, lets turn into yonder
Arbour, for it is a cleane and cool place.

_Viat._ 'Tis a faire motion, and I will requite a part of your
courtesies with a bottle of _Sack_, and _Milk_, and _Oranges_ and
_Sugar_, which all put together, make a drink too good for anybody, but
us Anglers: and so Master, here is a full glass to you of that liquor,
and when you have pledged me, I wil repeat the Verses which I promised
you, it is a Copy printed amongst Sir _Henry Wottons_ Verses, and
doubtless made either by him, or by a lover of Angling: Come Master,
now drink a glass to me, and then I will pledge you, and fall to my
repetition; it is a discription of such Country recreations as I have
enjoyed since I had the happiness to fall into your company.

Quivering fears, heart tearing cares,
Anxious sighes, untimely tears,
Fly, fly to Courts,
Fly to fond wordlings sports,
Where strain'd Sardonick smiles are glosing stil
And grief is forc'd to laugh against her will.
Where mirths but Mummery,
And sorrows only real be.

Fly from our Country pastimes, fly,
Sad troops of humane misery,
Come serene looks,
Clear as the Christal Brooks,
Or the pure azur'd heaven that smiles to see
The rich attendance on our poverty;
Peac