Worms finer for fishing you couldn't be wishing;
I delved them dismayed from the velvety sod;
The rich loam upturning I gathered them squirming,
big, fat, gleamy earthworms, all ripe for my rod.
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What a compassionate soul Mr. Service is, comparing the worms in his bait-box to us miserable human beings who are interred in grimy cities. Here speaks a pure vegetarian, I assume. Good on him.