Ven: Up, dear master, the trouts are rising madly.
Pisc: My shaving-water, Thomas.
Ven: Nay, sweet master, awake. It is six of the clock, and there is great sport toward.
Pisc: As I live, I do believe that I have nodded. Ay, scholar, the trouts are rising gallantly. Let me tell you that this is the evening rise, called amongst us old anglers Tom Fool's Light, because it would seem that the veriest bungler must enjoy sport when the fish are so ready to feed. But you must know, sir, that this name is ill-chosen. For all their boldness it taketh a master hand to deceive them at this time.
Ven: Yet have I landed a leash in this very pool.
Pisc: Then I will go higher yet, and try conclusions with them in the next meadow.
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Ven: Well, master, the sun hath set upon a fair day and a happy one for me. I have taken another brace since we parted company. How hath fortune smiled upon you, good master, beside this tumbling bay?
Pisc: Why, sir, sourly, for I have wasted all this fine rise fishing for one trout, which, when
