Pisc: Nay, sir, you cannot take him; you have not the skill to throw so far; you will surely crack off your fly. Catch me one of these trouts below this bridge, them that I told you of.
Ven: Oh, sir, they are little things.
Cor: They be daäce, zur.
Pisc: Go your ways, Corydon; I tell you that they are trouts. Well, scholar, perhaps you will be better employed watching me. Why, it is a long cast, beshrew me! How now? My fly is gone! Mark this, scholar, and learn how the best may be caught napping. The gut hath been overlong drying and hath broken. Now, I am ready again. There—I think that was pretty well.
Ven: Your fly is in the tree, sir.
Pisc: Ah, scholar, this time your eyes have not deceived you; it is as you say. Oh me! I am most evilly hung up. Now, while I am mending the damage, let me tell you, sir, that when I shall hook yonder fish I must manage him yarely. Do you see these beds of green weeds? He will surely run for them, and once among them, he is lost to us, but you shall see how I shall master him.
Ven: That was a fine cast, sir. Oh, he hath taken it.
Pisc: Ay, hath he, and he is mine own.
