The Sot-weed Factor | Page 6

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 get,?Brib'd _Quack_ supprest his knavish Wit.?So Maid upon the Downy Field?Pretends a Force, and Fights to yield:?The Byast Court without delay,?Adjudg'd my Debt in Country Pay;?In (mm) Pipe staves, Corn or Flesh of Boar,?Rare Cargo for the _English_ Shoar;?Raging with Grief, full speed I ran?To joyn the Fleet at (nn) _Kicketan_;?Embarqu'd and waiting for a Wind?I left this dreadful Curse behind.
May Canniballs transported o'er the Sea?Prey on these Slaves, as they have