And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.
Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
With thee all tales are sweet; each clime has charms; earth - sea alike - our world within our arms.
So much alarmed that she is quite alarming