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The great fishpond .

Ann, Ann! Come! quick as you can! There's a fish that talks In the frying-pan.

Here when the labouring fish does at the foot arrive, And finds that by his strength but vainly he doth strive; His tail takes in his teeth, and bending like a bow, That's to the compass drawn, aloft himself doth throw: Then springing at his height, as doth a little wand, That, bended end to end, and flerted from the hand, Far off itself doth cast. so does the salmon vaut. And if at first he fail, his second summersaut He instantly assays and from his nimble ring, Still yarking never leaves, until himself he fling Above the streamful top of the surrounded heap.

Damn'd neuters, in their middle way of steering, Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring.

God quickened in the Sea and in the Rivers, So many fishes of so many features, That in the waters we may see all Creatures; Even all that on the earth is to be found, As if the world were in deep waters drowned.