soft, and flimsy food, more fitted for the tea-table of a gentlewoman than for the dinner of an honest angler. It is ever my way to carry with me in my fish-bag a cold pullet's leg and a lettuce, a piece of good, dry wheaten bread, and such fruit as is in season. Ah hah! sir, I see your mouth begin to water. What say you to the providence of an old angler? Come, scholar, here is our tree, and now let us fall to.
Ven: Oh, master, what is the matter?
Pisc: That feather-brained wench hath forgotten to furnish me with my dinner. A murrain
Ven: Nay, my loving master, will you not share mine? A sandwich
Pisc: Oh, my dear scholar, shall I not be robbing you? Thank you, sir, I will try another. I protest that these sandwiches are vastly well; though this one hath more gristle in it than I could wish. Nay, sir, but one more and I am filled. No more, I thank you.
Ven: Why, sir, I shall not eat it; would you see it wasted?
Pisc: Nay, that were a sin, and I would rather have it on my stomach than on my conscience.
Ven: You are merry, sir.
Pisc: That is a gallant hunch of cake.
Ven: Will you try it, sir?
