Oh, the gallant fisher's life
It is the best of any!
'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife
And tis belov'd of many
Other joys, are but toys
Only this lawful is
For our skill breeds no ill
But content and pleasure

In a morning up we rise
Ere Aurora's peeping
Drink a cup to wash our eyes
Leave the sluggard sleeping
Then we go to and fro
With our knacks at our backs
To such streams as the Thames
If we have the leisure

If the sun's excessive heat
Makes our bodies swelter
To an osier hedge we get
For a friendly shelter
Where in a dyke, perch or pike
Roach or dace we go chase
Bleak or gudgeon without grudging
We are still contented