That little Fishes may be greater,
And that, the larger th' are the better
I know; but then, to let em swim,
And all the while to stay for 'em;
Since catching so uncertain is,
I think's a foolish Business.
An Angler patiently a fishing
Employ'd with looking on, and wishing,
Catches at last a little Carp
That's very poor; but being sharp
He thought 'twas something to begin,
Opens his pouch to put him in.
But cries the Prisoner pitiously
Alas, what would you do with me!
Let me grow bigger, throw me in.
Some two Year hence you'll catch m' again;
I'll stay for you, for you may be sure;
Then sell me to some Epicure,
But now I'm such a silly Fish,
A hundred would not make a Dish;
And if they should, when all is done,
There would be only Skin and Bone.
Says the Angler I've a Mind to try you,
And if y' an't fit to Stew, I'll Fry you.
Leave preaching till anon, and then
Discourse your Mattets to the Pan.
The Moral.
I Chuse One is for two May be's,
One sure for Ten Uncertainties.