George Gordon Noel Byron

Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, read more

And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.

And hold up to the sun my little taper.

And hold up to the sun my little taper.

And then he danced;--all foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime;--he danced, I say read more

And then he danced;--all foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime;--he danced, I say right well,
With emphasis, and also with good sense--
A thing in footing indispensable:
He danced without theatrical pretence,
Not like a ballet-master in the van
Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
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Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.