Semphill, his hat stuck full of hooks,
Sits drinking ale,
Among the English fishing visitors,
Probes in detail,
Their faults in casting, reeling, selection of flies.
'Never', he urges 'do what it says in the books'.
Then they, obscurely wise,
Abandon by the loch their dripping oars,
And hang their throttled tarnish on the scale.
'Forgive me, every speckled trout'
Says Semphill then,
'And every swan and eider on these waters.
Certain strange men,
Taking advantage of my poverty,
Have wheedled all my subtle loch-craft out,
So that their butchery,
Seem fine technique in the ear of wives or daughters,
And I betray the loch for a white coin'..