Mrs. Izaak Walton
WRITES A LETTER TO HER MOTHER CHANCERY LANE, LONDON, April 28, 1639. My Dearest Mother: Matters indeed pass from badd to worse, and I fear mee that with Izaak spending all hys tyme angling along riversydes and neglecting the millinery shoppe (wych is our onlie supporte, for can bodye and soule be keppt in one by a few paltrie brace of trouts a weeke?) wee shall soone come to a sorrye ende. How many tymes, deare Mother, have I bewailed my follye in wedding this creature who seemeth to mee more a fysh than a man, not mearly by reason of hys madnesse for the gracelesse practice of water-dabbling, but eke for hys passion for swimming in barley wine, ale, malmsey and other infuriatyng liquours. What manner of companye doth this dotard keepe on his fyshing pastimes, God wot! Lo he is
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