Ad Piscatorem
FOR
these
are
sacred
fishes
all
Who
know
that
lord
that
is
the
lord
of
all;
Come
to
the
brim
and
nose
the
friendly
hand
That
sways
and
can
beshadow
all
the
land.
Nor
only
so,
but
have
their
names,
and
come
When
they
are
summoned
by
the
Lord
of
Rome.
Here
once
his
line
an
impious
Lybian
threw;
And
as
with
tremulous
reed
his
prey
he
drew,
Straight,
the
light
failed
him.
He
groped,
nor
found
the
prey
that
he
had
ta'en.
Now
as
a
warning
to
the
fisher
clan
Beside
the
lake
he
sits,
a
beggarman.
Thou,
then,
while
still
thine
innocence
is
pure,
Flee
swiftly,
nor
presume
to
set
thy
lure;
Respect
these
fishes,
for
their
friends
are
great;
And
in
the
waters
empty
all
thy
bait.
