These were the thoughts that then possest the undisturbed mind of Sir _Henry Wotton_. Will you hear the wish of another Angler, and the commendation of his happy life [Jo. Da.], which he also sings in Verse.
_Let me live harmlesly, and near the brink Of_ Trent _or_ Avon _have a dwelling place, Where I may see my quil or cork down sink, With eager bit of_ Pearch, _or_ Bleak, _or_ Dace; And on the world and my Creator think, Whilst some men strive, ill gotten goods t'imbrace; And others spend their time in base excess Of wine or worse, in war and wantonness.
_Let them that list these pastimes still pursue, And on such pleasing fancies feed their fill, So I the fields and meadows green may view, And daily by fresh Rivers walk at will, Among the_ Daisies _and the_ Violets _blue, Red_ Hyacinth, _and yellow_ Daffadil, _Purple_ Narcissus, _like the morning rayes, Pale_ ganderglass _and azure_ Culverkayes.
_I count it higher pleasure to behold The stately compass of the lofty_ Skie, _And in the midst thereof (like burning Gold) The flaming Chariot of the worlds great eye, The watry clouds, that in the aire up rold, With sundry kinds of painted colour flye; And fair_ Aurora _lifting up her head, Still blushing, rise from old_ Tithonius _bed.
The_ hils _and_ mountains _raised from the_ plains, _The_ plains _extended level with the_ ground, _The_ grounds _divided into sundry_ vains, _The_ vains _inclos'd with_ rivers _running round; These_ rivers _making way through natures chains With headlong course into the sea profound; The raging sea, beneath the vallies low, Where_ lakes, _and_ rils, _and_ rivulets _do flow.
The loftie woods, the Forrests wide and long Adorn'd with leaves & branches fresh & green, In whose cool bowres the birds with many a song Do welcom with their Quire the Sumers_ Queen: _The Meadows fair, where_ Flora's _gifts among Are intermixt, with verdant grass between. The silver-scaled fish that softly swim, Within the sweet brooks chrystal watry stream.
All these, and many more of his Creation, That made the Heavens, the Angler oft doth see, Taking therein no little delectation, To think how strange, how wonderful they be; Framing thereof an inward contemplation, To set his heart from other fancies free; And whilst he looks on these with joyful eye, His mind is rapt above the Starry Skie_.