Rapt: Then, sir, you have my sympathy, for a merrier hour's work I have never known. I have taken the number limit, three brace of as fine trouts as ever were seen. There is eighteen pounds weight here, in my fish-bag.
Ven: This is some pot-hunting fisherman, I fear.
Pisc: Why, sir, you have indeed been fortunate. But I am told that a silver doctor, run through these Clere hatch-holes
Rapt: A murrain o' your silver doctors, sir! It was a dark olive quill.
Pisc: Indeed, sir?
Rapt: Ay, marry! The rise of a lifetime, sir. The fly came on at nine of the clock, but there hath been none for this half-hour, and so I am for home with my three brace.
Pisc: To sell them at the fishmonger's, sir?
Rapt: Good-day, sir.
Ven: Alas, I fear we have lost some noble sport.
Pisc: I fear that this good gentleman is a liar. Did you mark, scholar, how he made no offer to show us this great catch of trouts?
Ven: True, good master. Then we are to doubt his story?
Pisc: Most shrewdly.
