class="full c17"/>

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 Goal or Colledge,
You're welcome to my certain Knowledge;
And if you please all Night to stay,
My Son shall put you in the way.
Which offer I most kindly took,
And for a Seat did round me look;
When presently amongst the rest,
He plac'd his unknown English Guest,
Who found them drinking for a whet,
A Cask of (h) Syder on the Fret,
Till Supper came upon the Table,
On which I fed whilst I was able.
So after hearty Entertainment,
Of Drink and Victuals without Payment;
For Planters Tables, you must know,
Are free for all that come and go.
While (i) Pon and Milk, with (k) Mush well stoar'd,
In Wooden Dishes grac'd the Board;
With (l) Homine and Syder-pap,
(Which scarce a hungry dog wou'd lap)
Well stuff'd with Fat from Bacon fry'd,
Or with Mollossus dulcify'd.
Then out our Landlord pulls a Pouch,
As greasy as the Leather Couch
On which he sat, and straight begun
To load with Weed his Indian Gun;
In length, scarce longer than one's Finger.
His Pipe smoak'd out with aweful Grace,
With aspect grave and solemn pace;
The reverend Sire walks to a Chest,
Of all his Furniture the best,
Closely confined within a Room,
Which seldom felt the weight of Broom;
From thence he lugs a Cag of Rum,
And nodding to me, thus begun:
I find, says he, you don't much care
For this our Indian Country