DOI issue:
August 9, 1873
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16937#0069
August 9, 1873.]
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIYAPI.
57
THE INCOMPLETE ANGLER.
\
Chapter YI.
not waited to receive our compliments, but hath withdrawn himself
underneath the table.
Venator. I ’ll shing shong.
he Evening. At the Inn.
Piscator, Venator,
Peter, Coridon, and
Hostess.
Piscator. Well met, brother
Peter. I heard you and a
friend would lodge here
to-night, and that hath
made me bring my friend
to lodge here too. My
friend hath been an angler
but this day, and hath
caught a Chub nineteen
feet eleven inches and a
half long.
Peter. Hay, honest Pis-
cator, why not give him
the other half inch ? Make
him twenty feet, and there
an end.
Piscator. Trust me,
brother Peter, I would
not depart from the truth
for so small a matter as
one half inch. But come,
Hostess, give us some of
your best, for we have met
to be pleasant, and my honest Scholar will pay you in good coin.
Venator. But, my loving Master--
Peter. Nay, we will all bear our share.
Coridon. And the one that hath the best song shall pay the
reckoning.
Venator. A match! a match ! for I know hut one verse of a song,
and that I cannot sing. This is the best liquor that ever I tasted.
Coridon. This is a choice dinner, and rare wine.
Piscator. Trust me, brother Peter. I find my Scholar so suitable
to my own humour, which is to be free and pleasant, and civilly
merry.
Venator. Ay, my Mas’r—to be silivy merry. This is most
excellent liquor. _
Piscator. Now we have supped let’s turn to the fire. Hostess,
the cups and the pipes. So. Come on, my masters. Who begins r
Let’s avoid contention.
Coridon. I will. I’ll shing shong. Hate conten- Hate co^-
tenshun.
COPJDON’S SONG.
Ho! the sweets
And the treats
Of a fisher’s life.
Hey, trollie, lollie,
Let us all be jolly,
All round the holly,
Trollie, lollie, lo!
Chorus, please.
Trollie, lollie, lollie,
Let us all be jolly,
All round the holly,
Trollie, lollie, lo!
Second verse:—
Whitebait, Greenwich,
Ducks and spinach,
Little fishes
In their dishes,
Pickled salmon,
Then the lamb on
Table, waiter!
Bring a tater!
Ho! the sweets and the treats,
Swells and ladies, take your seats.
Trollie, lollie,
Let’s be jolly.
And chor’s p’ease—
We won’t go home till morning,
Till daylight doth appear.
All. Hip, hip, hip, Hooray !
Piscator. Brother Peter, your friend Coridon hath well sung,
and I commend so great modesty in one so young, in that he hath
VENATOR/S SONG.
Tallyho ! Tally ho !
Yoicks! to “ Bingleader ” ! yoicks away !
Whoop away!
I know Old Tom, and he knows me,
And I know him wherever he be.
In the early morn,
By the sound of his horn,
By the sound of his horn, the wind blowing nor’ard.
Hey ! Tallyho ! yoicks ! and Hi ! For’ard !
I don’t know more. Go bed.
Piscator. Brother Peter, we anglers are much beholden to these
two excellent singers. Come, Hostess, another bowl, and let’s
drink to them. Then to bed ; for I will have nothing hinder me in
the morning. My purpose is to be away by sunrise.
Hostess. Then, my honest, merry Gentlemen, first pay your
reckoning overnight.
Peter. ’Twas a match that the best singer should be at charges
for the company. But your scholar is as good a singer as my friend ;
therefore, divide the score between them. For safety I have
Coridon’s purse here, and will discharge his share.
Piscator. And here is my scholar’s portion. Hostess, let them
both be carried to bed. Good-night to everybody.
Peter. And so say I.
Hostess. And so say I.
Coridon and Venator. An’-sho-sh’-all-of-ush.
THE NEXT DAY.
Piscator. Good-morrow, good hostess. My Brother Peter and
his friend are still in bed. Give me my breakfast, and my scholar
a bottle of soda-water and a lemon.
Venator. 0 me! 0 Master ! 0 my head!
Piscator. An excellent breakfast. Good hostess, prithee go up-
stairs, and knock at Brother Peter’s door, and give him this note,
and bring me the answer down-stairs. So she is gone. Now, Scholar,
we will not wait her return, but be going.
Venator. But, my Master, you have not paid for your breakfast.
Piscator. It is Brother Peter’s birthday, and the reckoning will
be a little surprise for him when he comes down. The learned
Doctor M. Bezzler has translated Martiae’s epigram, “ Piscator,
fuge ! ” thus : “0 Angler ! hook it! ” So now we are well on our
way-
Venator. Alas! I am not well on our way! . . . 0, Master ! 0 !
0 ! I will not offend again.
Piscator. You are better now, my loving Scholar ?
Venator. I am, my kind Master. And now, as we go towards the
river, will you tell me how to make such a bait as shall catch a dace,
or a roach r
Piscator. Take a handful of sour milk like as frumissy is boiled.
Venator. Good Master, what is frumissy ?
Piscator. Frumissy, Scholar, the learned Bottler explains, is
ingeniously derived from the Latin Fruor, I enjoy, and misi, I have
sent; and it is to be understood that the scent is to be enjoyed.
Venator. I thank you, good Master. This truly is what I have
heard called in the same learned language a funnimentum. ... 0,
Master, 0 !
Piscator. Trust me, I will not fail you on such occasion, for where
the rod hath been spared, child and fish have been alike spoiled.
Boil this sour milk till it be hard ; then fry it leisurely with gentles,
sawdust, bluebottles of not more than three years of age, a handful
of nettles, which, as you must learn for yourself, shall not have
been before deprived of their sting, and half a pound of Cayenne
pepper. Make this into a paste, paint it with three coatings of blue
colour, and you will find it a tempting bait for a cock-roach, which
the pious Dutchman, Van Dunderbootzen, affirms to be the choicest
fish that swims.
Venator. I thank you, my Master, and shall be yet more beholden
to you if you will tell me what more you remember that is necessary
to the taking of the cock-roach.
Piscator. Well, Scholar, I will stop here unless you satisfy my
charges up to this time, whereof I will now give you the score.
Venator. Nay, Master, I haye but three sovereigns left; but if
you will not again use the rod-
Piscator. That is what no true angler can promise. So. They
are good ones. I will now tell you what remains to be done when
you have provided yourself wdth such a bait as I have already taught
you to make.
Venator. Proceed, good Master, to your promised direction. I
will not fail with my bait; and see, here are the nettles at hand!
Piscator. Pluck them gently, but fearlessly, for they belong to no
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIYAPI.
57
THE INCOMPLETE ANGLER.
\
Chapter YI.
not waited to receive our compliments, but hath withdrawn himself
underneath the table.
Venator. I ’ll shing shong.
he Evening. At the Inn.
Piscator, Venator,
Peter, Coridon, and
Hostess.
Piscator. Well met, brother
Peter. I heard you and a
friend would lodge here
to-night, and that hath
made me bring my friend
to lodge here too. My
friend hath been an angler
but this day, and hath
caught a Chub nineteen
feet eleven inches and a
half long.
Peter. Hay, honest Pis-
cator, why not give him
the other half inch ? Make
him twenty feet, and there
an end.
Piscator. Trust me,
brother Peter, I would
not depart from the truth
for so small a matter as
one half inch. But come,
Hostess, give us some of
your best, for we have met
to be pleasant, and my honest Scholar will pay you in good coin.
Venator. But, my loving Master--
Peter. Nay, we will all bear our share.
Coridon. And the one that hath the best song shall pay the
reckoning.
Venator. A match! a match ! for I know hut one verse of a song,
and that I cannot sing. This is the best liquor that ever I tasted.
Coridon. This is a choice dinner, and rare wine.
Piscator. Trust me, brother Peter. I find my Scholar so suitable
to my own humour, which is to be free and pleasant, and civilly
merry.
Venator. Ay, my Mas’r—to be silivy merry. This is most
excellent liquor. _
Piscator. Now we have supped let’s turn to the fire. Hostess,
the cups and the pipes. So. Come on, my masters. Who begins r
Let’s avoid contention.
Coridon. I will. I’ll shing shong. Hate conten- Hate co^-
tenshun.
COPJDON’S SONG.
Ho! the sweets
And the treats
Of a fisher’s life.
Hey, trollie, lollie,
Let us all be jolly,
All round the holly,
Trollie, lollie, lo!
Chorus, please.
Trollie, lollie, lollie,
Let us all be jolly,
All round the holly,
Trollie, lollie, lo!
Second verse:—
Whitebait, Greenwich,
Ducks and spinach,
Little fishes
In their dishes,
Pickled salmon,
Then the lamb on
Table, waiter!
Bring a tater!
Ho! the sweets and the treats,
Swells and ladies, take your seats.
Trollie, lollie,
Let’s be jolly.
And chor’s p’ease—
We won’t go home till morning,
Till daylight doth appear.
All. Hip, hip, hip, Hooray !
Piscator. Brother Peter, your friend Coridon hath well sung,
and I commend so great modesty in one so young, in that he hath
VENATOR/S SONG.
Tallyho ! Tally ho !
Yoicks! to “ Bingleader ” ! yoicks away !
Whoop away!
I know Old Tom, and he knows me,
And I know him wherever he be.
In the early morn,
By the sound of his horn,
By the sound of his horn, the wind blowing nor’ard.
Hey ! Tallyho ! yoicks ! and Hi ! For’ard !
I don’t know more. Go bed.
Piscator. Brother Peter, we anglers are much beholden to these
two excellent singers. Come, Hostess, another bowl, and let’s
drink to them. Then to bed ; for I will have nothing hinder me in
the morning. My purpose is to be away by sunrise.
Hostess. Then, my honest, merry Gentlemen, first pay your
reckoning overnight.
Peter. ’Twas a match that the best singer should be at charges
for the company. But your scholar is as good a singer as my friend ;
therefore, divide the score between them. For safety I have
Coridon’s purse here, and will discharge his share.
Piscator. And here is my scholar’s portion. Hostess, let them
both be carried to bed. Good-night to everybody.
Peter. And so say I.
Hostess. And so say I.
Coridon and Venator. An’-sho-sh’-all-of-ush.
THE NEXT DAY.
Piscator. Good-morrow, good hostess. My Brother Peter and
his friend are still in bed. Give me my breakfast, and my scholar
a bottle of soda-water and a lemon.
Venator. 0 me! 0 Master ! 0 my head!
Piscator. An excellent breakfast. Good hostess, prithee go up-
stairs, and knock at Brother Peter’s door, and give him this note,
and bring me the answer down-stairs. So she is gone. Now, Scholar,
we will not wait her return, but be going.
Venator. But, my Master, you have not paid for your breakfast.
Piscator. It is Brother Peter’s birthday, and the reckoning will
be a little surprise for him when he comes down. The learned
Doctor M. Bezzler has translated Martiae’s epigram, “ Piscator,
fuge ! ” thus : “0 Angler ! hook it! ” So now we are well on our
way-
Venator. Alas! I am not well on our way! . . . 0, Master ! 0 !
0 ! I will not offend again.
Piscator. You are better now, my loving Scholar ?
Venator. I am, my kind Master. And now, as we go towards the
river, will you tell me how to make such a bait as shall catch a dace,
or a roach r
Piscator. Take a handful of sour milk like as frumissy is boiled.
Venator. Good Master, what is frumissy ?
Piscator. Frumissy, Scholar, the learned Bottler explains, is
ingeniously derived from the Latin Fruor, I enjoy, and misi, I have
sent; and it is to be understood that the scent is to be enjoyed.
Venator. I thank you, good Master. This truly is what I have
heard called in the same learned language a funnimentum. ... 0,
Master, 0 !
Piscator. Trust me, I will not fail you on such occasion, for where
the rod hath been spared, child and fish have been alike spoiled.
Boil this sour milk till it be hard ; then fry it leisurely with gentles,
sawdust, bluebottles of not more than three years of age, a handful
of nettles, which, as you must learn for yourself, shall not have
been before deprived of their sting, and half a pound of Cayenne
pepper. Make this into a paste, paint it with three coatings of blue
colour, and you will find it a tempting bait for a cock-roach, which
the pious Dutchman, Van Dunderbootzen, affirms to be the choicest
fish that swims.
Venator. I thank you, my Master, and shall be yet more beholden
to you if you will tell me what more you remember that is necessary
to the taking of the cock-roach.
Piscator. Well, Scholar, I will stop here unless you satisfy my
charges up to this time, whereof I will now give you the score.
Venator. Nay, Master, I haye but three sovereigns left; but if
you will not again use the rod-
Piscator. That is what no true angler can promise. So. They
are good ones. I will now tell you what remains to be done when
you have provided yourself wdth such a bait as I have already taught
you to make.
Venator. Proceed, good Master, to your promised direction. I
will not fail with my bait; and see, here are the nettles at hand!
Piscator. Pluck them gently, but fearlessly, for they belong to no