The Sot-weed Factor | Page 2

of twenty-one pages. It was reprinted, with a poem on Bacon's
Rebellion, by Mr. Green, at Annapolis, Maryland, in 1731. Mr. Green
cautiously reminds the reader that it was a description written twenty
years before, and "did not agree with the condition of Annapolis at the
time of its publication!"
The edition, now published, is taken from the London copy of 1708, as
"Printed and sold by B. Bragg, at the Raven, in Pater-Noster-row (price
6d.)"
In Stevens's _Bibliotheca Americana_, 1861, we find the following title:
"Sot-Weed Redivivus; or the Planters Looking-Glass. In Burlesque
Verse, Calculated for the Meridian of Maryland, by E. C. Gent:
_Annapolis_; _William Parks_, for the Author. 1730. viii and text 28
pp. 4°." Mr. Stevens describes the book as "alike curious as an early
specimen of printing in Maryland, and as an example of American
poetry."
"E. C. _Gent_:" of 1730, at Annapolis, may be the
"Ebenezer Cook, Gent:" of London, 1708,--"_redivivus_,"--returned to
America and turned Author again at Annapolis, under the auspices of
our early Colonial printer, William Parks. But we have never seen this
rare book, published twenty-two years after the _Sot-Weed Factor_ was
first issued in England, and know nothing of its character or authorship.

BRANTZ MAYER.
Baltimore, October 20, 1865.
[Footnote 1: Sot-Weed, i. e. the sot making or inebriating weed; a name
for _tobacco_, used at that time. A Sot-weed Factor, was a tobacco
agent or supercargo.]
[Footnote 2: The "eastern shoar" of the Chesapeake bay: this portion of
Maryland is still familiarly called so in that state.]
THE
Sot-Weed Factor;
Or, a Voyage to
Maryland, &c.
Condemn'd by Fate to way-ward Curse,
Of Friends unkind, and
empty Purse;
Plagues worse than fill'd _Pandora's_ Box,
I took my
leave of _Albion's_ Rocks:
With heavy Heart, concerned that I
Was forc'd my Native Soil to fly,

And the _Old World_ must bid good-buy
But Heav'n ordain'd it
should be so,
And to repine is vain we know:
Freighted with Fools
from _Plymouth_ sound
To _Mary-Land_ our Ship was bound,

Where we arrived in dreadful Pain,
Shock'd by the Terrours of the
Main;
For full three Months, our wavering Boat,
Did thro' the
surley Ocean float,
And furious Storms and threat'ning Blasts,
Both
tore our Sails and sprung our Masts;
Wearied, yet pleas'd we did
escape
Such Ills, we anchor'd at the (a) _Cape_;
But weighing soon,
we plough'd the Bay,
To (b) Cove it in (c) _Piscato-way_,
Intending
there to open Store,
I put myself and Goods a-shoar:
Where soon repair'd a numerous Crew,
In Shirts and Drawers of (d)
_Scotch-cloth Blue_
With neither Stockings, Hat nor Shooe.
These
_Sot-weed_ Planters Crowd the Shoar,
In hue as tawny as a Moor:

Figures so strange, no God design'd,
To be a part of Humane kind:

But wanton Nature, void of Rest,
Moulded the brittle Clay in Jest.

At last a Fancy very odd
Took me, this was the Land of _Nod_;


Planted at first, when Vagrant _Cain_,
His Brother had unjustly slain;

Then Conscious of the Crime he'd done
From Vengeance dire, he
hither run,
And in a hut supinely dwelt,
The first in _Furs_ and
_Sot-weed_ dealt.
And ever since his Time, the Place,
Has
harbour'd a detested Race;
Who when they cou'd not live at Home,

For refuge to these Worlds did roam;
In hopes by Flight they might
prevent,
The Devil and his fell intent;
Obtain from Tripple-Tree
reprieve,
And Heav'n and Hell alike deceive;
But e're their Manners I display,
I think it fit I open lay
My
Entertainment by the way:
That Strangers well may be aware on,

What homely Diet they must fare on.
To touch that Shoar where no
good Sense is found,
But Conversation's lost, and Manners drown'd.
I cros't unto the other side,
A River whose impetuous Tide,
The
Savage Borders does divide;
In such a shining odd invention,
I
scarce can give its due Dimention.
The _Indians_ call this watry
Waggon
(e) _Canoo_, a Vessel none can brag on;
Cut from a
_Popular-Tree_ or _Pine_,
And fashion'd like a Trough for Swine:

In this most noble Fishing-Boat,
I boldly put myself afloat;

Standing erect, with Legs stretch'd wide,
We paddled to the other side:

Where being Landed safe by hap,
As _Sol_ fell into _Thetis'_ Lap.

A ravenous Gang bent on the stroul,
Of (f) Wolves for Prey, began
to howl;
This put me in a pannick Fright,
Least I should be
devoured quite;
But as I there a musing stood,
And quite benighted
in a Wood,
A Female Voice pierc'd, thro' my Ears,
Crying, _You
Rogue drive home the Steirs_.
I listen'd to th' attractive sound,

And straight a Herd of Cattel found

Drove by a Youth, and homeward bound;
Cheer'd with the fight, I
straight thought fit,
To ask where I a Bed might get.
The surley
Peasant bid me stay,
And ask'd from whom (g) I'de run away.

Surprized at such a saucy Word,
I instantly lugg'd out my Sword;

Swearing I was no Fugitive,
But from _Great-Britain_ did arrive,
In
hopes I better there might Thrive.
To which he mildly made reply,

_I beg your Pardon, Sir, that I
Should talk to you Unmannerly;
But
if you please to go with me,
To yonder House, you'll welcome be_.

Encountring soon the smoaky Seat,
The Planter old did thus me greet:

"Whether you come from