Imágenes de página




P. 3. The first edition of Walton's Angler appears, from the original advertisements, to have been published at eighteenpence. It was thus advertised in " The Perfect Diurnall: from Monday, May 9th, to Monday, May 16M, 1653," p. 2716, London, 4to:—

"The Compleat Angler, or the Contemplative Man's Recreation, being a Discourse of Fish and Fishing, not unworthy the perusal of most Anglers, of 18 pence price. Written by Iz. Wa. Also the known Play of the Spanish Gipsee, never till now published: Both printed for Richard Marriot, to be sold at his shop in Saint Dunstan's Churchyard, Fleet street. In the Mercurittt Politvus : from Thursday, May 12, to Thursday, May 19, 1653,/. 2470, London, 4/0, the Complete Angler is thus noticed: "There is newly extant, a Book of l$d. price, called the Compleat Angler, or the Contemplative Man's Recreation, being a Discourse of Fish and Fishing, not unworthy the perusal of most Anglers. Printed for Richard Marriot, to be sold at his shop in St Dunstan's Churchyard, Fleet street"

P. 14. Alexander Brome also edited Fletcher's comedy of " Monsieur Thomas" in 1639, which he dedicated to Charles Cotton, Esq., the father of the author of the second part of "The Complete Angler."

P. 18. The following translation of Dr Duport's verses to Walton is from the pen of the Venerable Archdeacon Wrangham, and was first printed in his edition of Dr Zouch's works, vol. ii. p. 441:—

Ham., Walton,'with thatJisher-sV\\\, Reading, on no inglorious theme.

Among more recent verses in praise of Walton, the following which occur in a poem edited by N. Tate, entitled "The Innocent Epicure, or Angling," published in 1697, the author of which is not known, merit insertion from their commemorating Walton, Cotton, and Venables:—

Hail, great Triumvirate * of Angling I hail.
Ye who best taught, and here did best excel!
Play here the Gods, pl.iy here the Hero's part,
Yourselves the Proto-Poets of the Art;
My humble Breast with pow'rful flames inspire,
To teach the World what justly we admire:
Joys fraught with Innocence, of Danger free;
Raptures which none enjoy so full as we.

* Walton, Cotton, and Venables.


And master thou, and scholar I,
A dread associate may record
(For I, too, watch the mimic fly)

Deep lectures to a listening host.

[ocr errors]

—A fisher was great nature's Lord.

But tell me first, for you or none can tell,
What God the mighty Science did reveal P
For sure a God he was; less than Divine
Could Blessings richer than the raciest Wine
Enlarge our Hearts, or strengthen his Design?
A God he was then, or at least to me;
And, my Associates, such he ought to be.
He taught us first the Grandeur of the Court;
Contcmn'd and scom'd for this, to choose a Sport
Full of Content, and crown'd with healthful Ease,
Where Nature frets not, while ourselves we please.

P. 35. In a poem by W. Vallans, entitled "A Tale of Two Swannes," printed in 1590, are these verses descriptive of Theobalds :—

* Thebaic!s. Now see these Swannes. the new and worthie seate*

Of famous Cicill, tresorer of the land,
Whose wisedome, counsell, skill of princes state,
The world admires; then Swannes may doe the same:
The house it selfe doth shewe the owners wit,
And may for bewtie, state, and every thing,
Compared be with most within the land.

It may here be remarked, that the view of the exterior of Theobalds, which will be found at page 180 of this work, from a picture by Vinkenboom, now in the Fitzwilliam. Collection at Cambridge, was engraved in the second volume of the Vetusta Monumenta, where it is called a view of Richmond Palace. The following statement on the subject occurs in the Gentleman's Magazine for September 1836: '* There is a folio plate of it, engraved at the expense of the Society of Antiquaries in the year 1765, but under the misnomer of Richmond Palace, a very extraordinary instance of carelessness and want of research, as there are two old views in existence of Richmond Palace, showing that its architecture was totally different in style to that of Theobalds. The original painting was then 1 in the possession of Lord Viscount Fitzwilliam at Richmond* a circumstance which naturally led to the misnomer with inconsiderate persons." As the Vetusta Monumenta is published by the Society of Antiquaries of London, the blunder, however striking, surely cannot be considered extraordinary.

P. 42. Tradescant's House is now the residence of William Heseltine, Esq.

P. 54- The following verses, ascribed to Sir Henry Wotton, which occur in Clifford's tl Tixall Poetry," p. 297, bear so much resemblance, in beauty and simplicity, to many of the pieces alluded to by Walton, that their insertion needs no apology :—


Quivering feares, heart-tearing cares,
Anxious sights, untimely tcares,

Fly, fly to courts.

Fly to find worldly harts;
Where strain'd saidonick smiles are gloss-
ing still,

And criefc is fore'd to laugh against his will;
Where mirth is but mummery,
And sorrows only reall be.

Fly from our country pastime, fly*

Sad troopes of humane misery.
Come, serened lookes,
Clearc as these cristall brookes,

Or the pure azure heaven, that smiles to

The rich attendance of our poverty;
Peace, and a secure mind,
Which all men seeke> we only find.

Abused mortals, did yon know

Where joy, hart's ease, and comforts grow,
You'd scorne proud towers,
And seeke them in those bowers,

Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps
may shake,

But blustering Care can never tempest make;

Nor murmurs ere come nigh us
Saving of fountains which glide by us.

Here's no fantasiike maske, or dance.
But of our kids that (risk and prance,

Nor wars are scene.

Unless upon the greene
Two ha'tnle<ts lambs are butting one the

Which done, both bleating run each to his
Nor wounds are ever found,
Save the ploughshare gives the

Here are no false entrapping baites
To histen too, too hasty fxtcs.

Unless it be

The fond credulity Of silly fi>h, which, worldlings like, still look

Upon the baite, and never on the hooke;

Nor envy, unless among"

The bird s, for praise of their sweet Sogu

Go, let the diving negro seeke
For gemmes in some forlorne creeke;
We pearles do scorne.
Save what the dewy morne
Congeals upon each spire of grass.
Which careies sheapheards beat downs i>
thty passe:
And go d nere here appeared
But what the yellow Ceres beares.

Sweet silent groves, O may you be
For ever mirth's best nursery.

May pure contents

For ever pitch their tents
Upon these meads, these downs, the-e

rocks, these mountains;
And peace still slumber by these purling

Which we may every yeare

Find when we come to sojourne here.

P. 54. There are strong reasons for believing that the "Secrets of Angling" was not written by John Davcrs, but by John Dcnnys^ Esq., who was lord of Oldbury-sur-Montcm, in the county of Gloucester, between 1572 and 1608. He was a younger son of Sir Walter Dennis, of Pucklechurch, in that county, by Agnes, daughter and co-heiress of Sir Robert Davcrs, or Danvers. It has been observed by Mr James Williamson, that the author of the Secrets of Angling speaks of the river Boyd, "washing the cliffs of Deighton and Week, and through their rocks, with winding way, seeking the Avon, in whose fair streams are found trout, roaches, dace, gudgeon, and bleak." Mention is also made of the many pleasant banks of that river, and of parties of anglers from Bath and Bristol passing along the meadows near the sides of that beautiful stream. The author likewise speaks of the rivers Usk, Severn, and Wye, which flow not very far distant from that neighbourhood. It appears that there is a beautiful rivulet called Boyd, which is formed by four distinct streams, rising in the parishes of Codrington, Pucklechurch, Dyrham, and Toghill, in the southern part of the county of Gloucester, between Bath and Bristol, which join in Wyke or Week Street, in the parish of Alston and Wyck, near a bridge of three large arches, and thence by the name of Boyd down to Avon, at Kynsham Bridge, and which river passes through the village of Pucklechurch, and thence flows on to Bitton, where stands a stone bridge. At Alston and Wyke there are many high cliffs or rocks, whose quarries afford most excellent lime, and in the north aisle of the ancient Church of Pucklechurch is the burial-place of the family of Dennys. John Penny*, Esq., was resident in that neighbourhood in the year 1572, and so continued till 1608, during which interval he was lord of the manor of Oldbury-surMontem, and of other places in the county of Gloucester.

The poet who commends the " Secrets of Angling " in the copy of verse* under the signature of "Jo. Daves," was probably the authors relation; and this seems to have been the old way of spelling the name of Davers or Danvers, as may be collected from Leland's Itinerarium, cd. 1769, vol. & P- 115.

P. 79. The following are the songs mentioned by Walton :—


(From a MS. in the collection of the late Mr Ileber, communicated by Mr T. Rodd.)

Come, Shepheards, clcclc your heads
No more with hayes but willowcs,
Forsake your downic beds
And make the downes your piltowes,
And moume with me, since crost
As never yet was 110 man,
For shrpheard neaver lost
So plain a dealing woman.

All yee forsaken wooers
I"hat ever were distressed,
And all ye lusty doers
That ever wenches pressed,
That losses can condole
And altogeather summon
To mourne for the poor soule
Of my plainc-dealinge woman.

Faire Venus made her chast,
And Ceres beauty gave her,
Pan wept when slice was lost,
The Satyrs strove to have her;
Yet scem'd she to theire vi=w
So coy, so nice, that no man
Could judge but he that knew
Shce was plaine-riealinge woman.

At all her pretty parts

I nere enough can wonder;

She overcame all hearts,

Yet shee all hearts came under j

Her inward parts were sweetc,

Yet not so sweete as common,

Shepheard shall neaver meet

So plaine a deaiinge woman.


(Printed in Ellis's Specimens of Early English Poetry, 2d ed. p. 189.)

Improves delight:
Which she denies: night's murky noon,
In Venus' plays,
Makes bold (she says);
Forego me now, come to me *oon.

As at noon Dulcina rested

In her sweet and shady bower,
Cnme a shepherd, and requested
In her lap to sleep an hour.
But from her look
A wound he took
So deeo, that for a further boon
The nymph he prays,
Whereto she says.
Forego me now, come to me soon.

But in vain she did conjure him,

To depart her presence so, Ha ving a thousand tongues t' allure him, And but one to bid him go.

When Hps invite,

And eyes delight.
And cheeks as fresh as rose in June,

Persuade delay—

What boots to say.
Forego me now, come to me soon?

He demands, what time for pleasure
Can there be more fit than now?

She says, night gives love that leisure
Which the day doth not allow.
He says, the sight

But what promise or profession

From his hands could purchase scope? Who would sell the sweet possession Of such beauty for a hope?

Or for the sight

Of lingering night
Forego the present joys of noon?

Tho' ne'er so fair

Her speeches were,
Forego me now, come to me soon.

How at last agreed these lovers?

She was fair and he was young; The tongue may tell what th* eye discovers, Joys unseen are never sung.

Did she consent

Or he reh-nt,
Accepts he night, or grants she noon,

I-eft he her a maid

Or not, she said,
Forego me now, come to me soon.


(Printed in Ritson's "Ancient Songs," ed. 1790, p. 236, from the "Theatre of Compliments," in 1689.)

Oh ! what a plague is love,

I cannot bear it;
She will inconstant prove,

I greatly fear it;
It so torments my mind,

That my heart faileth;

She wavers with the wind,

As a ship saileth:
Please her the best I may.
She loves still to gainsay.
Alack, and well-a-day!

Phillida flouts me.

* In the third, fourth, and fifth, as well as in the present edition of "The Complete Angler," this word is erroneously printed "herds"

At the fair t'other day,

A* she pass'd by me,
She look'd another way.

And would not spy roe.
I woo'd her for to dine.

But could not Ret her;
Dick had her to the Vine,

He migl t entreat her.
With Daniel she did dance.
On me she wou'd not glance*
Oh 1 thrice unhappy chance,
Phillida flouts inc.

Fair maid, be not so coy.

Do not disdain me;
I am my mother's joy,

Sweet, entertain me.
I shall have, when she dies,

All things that's fitting,
Her poultry and her bees,

And her goose silting;
A pair of mattress beds,
A barrel full of shreds:
And yet for all these goods,
Phillida flouts me.

I often heard her say,

That she lov'd posies:
In the last month of May

I gave her roses;
Cowslips and gilly-flowers,

And the sweet lily,
I got to deck the bowers

Of my dear Philly:
She did them all disdain,
And threw them back again;
Therefore 'tis flat and plain,
Phillida flouts me.

Thou shalt eat curds-atid-creim

All the year lasting.
And drink the crystal stream,

Pleasant in tasting;
Swig whey until you burst,

i-at bramble-berries,


Pie-lid aad pastry crust.

Pears, plums, and cherries;
Thy garments shall be thin,
Made of a wether's skin.
Yet all's not worth a pin,

Phillida flouts me.

Which way soe'cr I go.
She still torments Die;
And whatsoe'er I do.

Nothing contents me:
I fade and pine away

With grief and sorrow:
T fall quite to decay,
Like any shadow;
I shall be dead, I fear.
Within a thousand year,
And all because my dear

Phillida flouts me

Fair maiden, have a care,

And in time take me;
I can have those as fair,

If you forsake me:
There's Doll the dairymaid

Smil'd on me lately.
And wanton Winnifred
Favours me greatly;
One throws milk on my clothes.
T'other plays with my nose;
What pretty toys are those T
Phillida flouts me.
She hath a cloth of mine.

Wrought with blue Coventry,
Which she keeps as a sign

Of my fidelity;
But if she frowns on me.
She ne'er shall wear it;
I'll give it my maid Joan,

And she shall tear iL
Since 'twill no better be,
I'll bear it patiently;
Yet all the world may see

Phillida flouts me.

The length of this well-known ballad prevents its being reprinted here. It will be found in " Percy's Reliques," as well as in several other collections.


(From Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads, ed. 1829, vol. ii. p. 215, where it is entitled "John Armstrong's Last Good-Night.")

Is there never a man in all Scotland,

From the highest estate to the lowest degree.

That can show himself now before the king,

Scotland is so full of treachery f Yes, there is a man in Westmoreland,

And John Armstrong they do him call,
He lus no lands nor rents coming in,
Yet he keeps eight-score men within his

He has horses and harness for them all,
And goodly steeds that be milk-white,

With their goodly belts about their necks,
With hats and feathers all alike.

The king he writes a loving letter,

And with his own hand so tenderly,
And hath sent it unto Johnny Armstrong,
To come and speak with him speedily.
When John he look'd this letter upon.
Good lord, he look'd as blithe as a bird in
a tree:

*' I was never before a king in my life,
My father, my grandfather, nor none of
us three.

« AnteriorContinuar »