Ven: There, good master—a most lovel fish.
Pisc: Scholar, you must get you sharper eyes. Do you not see it is a bit of weed?
Ven: But look, dear master. There—it riseth.
Pisc: Lend me your rod. I have no fly tied on.
Ven: Nay, master, you know that I have a detached badger. Would you use such a lure?
Pisc: Why, scholar, it will prove merry sport to take him so. Come, your rod; I warrant you I will fit you with a trout for supper. Note, scholar, how I shall lay my fly three inches above his nose. A plague take the wind!
Ven: Methought five yards too much on this side.
Pisc: Nay, this was but a trial cast. So, I have got his length. There—that was another trial. No man may fish in such a gale with such a rod.
Ven: Good master, do you take your own, and while you tie on a fly let me angle for this trout.
Pisc: Prithee, fair scholar, cut me off this willow branch that I may regain my hook. Come, we must try other measures with this gentleman. My Fancy shall go forth in quest of him. Scholar, I must again crave your aid; it is somewhere in the small of my jacket.
Ven: Now, sir, you are fancy free. I pray you, let me have my rod.
