Ven: But, sir, may we not take some trouts, though there be no fly?
Pisc: Scholar, you are young to the angle, and so you stand excused. This is the talk of your pot-hunting fishers who do not scruple to throw an alder to a trout that is breakfasting on green drakes. Let me tell you, scholar, that no honest angler will wet a line until the fly be up. Hostess, a pot of ale.
Ven: Good master, I crave your pardon. Shall we not be going?
Pisc: Why, my honest scholar, I think we shall, for it is now eleven of the clock, and it is no more than seven minutes' walk to Willows Bridge, where I do purpose to begin.
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Ven: Sir, there is a gentleman on the bridge.
Pisc: An angler, by his rod; and, by his reaching the river at this hour, one who hath skill in the craft. Good-day, sir.
Rapt: Good-morrow, sir. What sport?
Pisc: Why, sir, none.
Rapt: None, sir? You have been fishing to ill purpose then.
Pisc: Nay, sir, I have been fishing to no ill purpose, for I have not been fishing at all.
