The Sot-weed Factor | Page 6

I did repair;
Near which a jolly
Female Crew,
Were deep engag'd at _Lanctre-Looe_;
In Night-rails
white, with dirty Mein,
Such Sights are scarce in _England_ seen:
I
thought them first some Witches bent,
On Black Designs in dire
Convent.
Till one who with affected air,
Had nicely learn'd to Curse
and Swear;
Cry'd Dealing's lost is but a Flam,
And vow'd by G----d
she'd keep her _Pam_.
When dealing through the board had run,

They ask'd me kindly to make one;
Not staying often to be bid,
I sat
me down as others did;
We scarce had play'd a Round about,
But
that these _Indian_ Froes fell out.
D----m you, says one, tho' now so
brave,
I knew you late a Four-Years Slave;
What if for Planter's
Wife you go,
Nature designed you for the Hoe.
Rot you replies the
other streight,
The Captain kiss'd you for his Freight;
And if the
Truth was known aright,
And how you walk'd the Streets by night

You'd blush (if one cou'd blush) for shame,
Who from _Bridewell_ or
_New gate_ came:
From Words they fairly fell to Blows,
And being
loath to interpose,
Or meddle in the Wars of Punk,
Away to Bed in
hast I slunk.
Waking next day, with aking Head,
And Thirst, that
made me quit my Bed;

I rigg'd myself, and soon got up,
To cool my
Liver with a Cup
Of (gg) _Succahana_ fresh and clear,
Not half so
good as _English_ Beer;
Which ready stood in Kitchin Pail,
And
was in fact but _Adam's_ Ale;
For Planter's Cellars you must know,

Seldom with good _October_ flow,
But Perry Quince and Apple
Juice,
Spout from the Tap like any Sluce;
Untill the Cask's grown
low and stale,
They're forc'd again to (hh) Goud and Pail:
The
soathing drought scarce down my Throat,
Enough to put a ship afloat,

With Cockerouse as I was sitting,
I felt a Feaver Intermitting;
A
fiery Pulse beat in my Veins,
From Cold I felt resembling Pains:

This cursed seasoning I remember,
Lasted from _March_ to cold

_December_;
Nor would it then its _Quarters_ shift
Until by
_Cardus_ turn'd adrift,
And had my Doctress wanted skill,
Or
Kitchin Physick at her will,
My Father's Son had lost his Lands,

And never seen the _Goodwin Sands_:
But thanks to Fortune and a
Nurse
Whose Care depended on my Purse,
I saw myself in good
Condition,
Without the help of a Physitian:
At length the shivering
ill relieved,
Which long my Head and Heart had grieved;
I then
began to think with Care,
How I might sell my _British_ Ware,

That with my Freight I might comply,
Did on my Charter party lie;

To this intent, with Guide before,
I tript it to the Eastern Shoar;

While riding near a Sandy Bay,
I met a _Quaker_, _Yea_ and _Nay_;

A Pious Consientious Rogue,
As e'er woar Bonnet or a Brogue,

Who neither Swore nor kept his Word
But cheated in the Fear of God;

And when his Debts he would not pay,
By Light within he ran
away.
With this sly Zealot soon I struck
A Bargain for my
_English_ Truck
Agreeing for ten thousand weight,
Of _Sot-weed_
good and fit for freight,
Broad Oronooko bright and sound,
The
growth and product of his ground;
In Cask that should contain
compleat,
Five hundred of Tobacco neat.
The Contract thus betwixt
us made,
Not well acquainted with the Trade,
My Goods I trusted to
the Cheat,
Whose crop was then aboard the Fleet;
And going to
receive my own,
I found the Bird was newly flown:
Cursing this
execrable Slave,
This damn'd pretended Godly Knave;

On dire
Revenge and Justice bent,
I instantly to Counsel went,
Unto an
ambodexter (ii) _Quack_,
Who learnedly had got the Knack
Of
giving Glisters, making Pills,
Of filling Bonds, and forging Wills;

And with a stock of Impudence,
Supply'd his want of Wit and Sense;

With Looks demure, amazing People,
No wiser than a Daw in
Steeple;
My Anger flushing in my Face,
I stated the preceeding
Case:
And of my Money was so lavish,
That he'd have poyson'd
half the Parish,
And hang'd his Father on a Tree
For such another
tempting Fee;
Smiling, said he, the Cause is clear,
I'll manage him
you need not fear;

The Case is judg'd, good Sir, but look
In _Galen_, No--in my Lord
Cook,
I vow to God I was mistook:
I'll take out a Provincial Writ,

And trounce him for his Knavish Wit;
Upon my Life we'll win the
Cause,
With all the ease I cure the (kk) Yaws;
Resolv'd to plague
the holy Brother,
I set one Rogue to catch another;
To try the cause
then fully bent,
Up to (ll) _Annapolis_ I went,
A City Situate on a
Plain,
Where scarce a House will keep out Rain;
The Buildings
framed with Cyprus rare,
Resembles much our _Southwark_ Fair:

But Stranger here will scarcely meet
With Market-place, Exchange,
or Street;
And if the Truth I may report,
'Tis not so large as
_Tottenham Court_.
St _Mary's_ once was in repute,
Now here the Judges try the Suit

And Lawyers twice a year dispute.
As oft the Bench most gravely
meet,
Some to get Drunk, and some to eat
A swinging share of
Country Treat.
But as for Justice right or wrong,
Not one amongst
the numerous throng,
Knows what they mean, or has the Heart,
To
give his Verdict on a Stranger's part:
Now Court being call'd by beat
of Drum,
The Judges left their Punch and Rum,
When Pettifogger
Docter draws,
His Paper forth, and opens Cause;
And least I shou'd
the better