The Devil sat by the river’s side—

The stream of time, where you’ll always find him—

Casting his line in the rushing tide,

And landing the fish on the bank behind him.

He sat at ease in a cozy nook,

And was filling his basket very fast;

While you might have seen that his deadly hook

Was differently baited for every cast.

He caught ’em as fast as a man could count;

Little or big, it was all the same.

One bait was a cheque for a round amount;

An assemblyman nabbed it, and out he came.

He took a gem that as Saturn shone;

It sank in the water without a sound,

And caught a woman who long was known

As the best and purest for miles around.

Sometimes he would laugh and sometimes sing,

For better luck no one could wish,

And he seemed to know to a dead sure thing,

The bait best suited to every fish.

Quoth Satan: “The fishing is rare and fine.”

And he took a drink, somewhat enthused:

And yet a parson swam round the line,

That e’en the most tempting bait refused.

He tried with his gold and his flashing gems,

Hung fame and fortune upon the line,

Dressing gowns with embroidered hems,

But still the dominie made no sign.