Pisc: Very gladly, scholar. What goodly plums are here! Oh me! your cake hath stones in it, sir. Whither now, good scholar?
Ven: A fish rose, sir.
Pisc: Can you point him out?
Ven: Nay, sir, I have my eye upon the very spot in the middle of the pool, but I should be hard put to it to show it to you. Why, I have him at the first attempt.
Pisc: I will put the net under him for you, for let me tell you, scholar, that this feat is no easy one, and not to be essayed by an unskilful hand. For if in landing of a fish the net do but touch the line, he shall break all. Bring him nearer to this tussock—so
Ven: Alas, master, he is gone.
Pisc: Scholar, you will do better yet, but I must tell you that you managed clumsily. Why did you suffer the line to touch the net?
Ven: Dear master, it seemed to me
Pisc: No matter, sir. You will do better, trust me. I have in you a towardly scholar, but no one may learn this art in a morning's fishing. I protest that the day is over sultry; I will sit awhile beneath this fine tree and read old Epictetus in the shade. Angle, if you will; but, trust me, you may not look for sport before evening.
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