of various Contemplations
Of Fancies odd, and Meditations,
I slumbered long---------------
Till hazy Night with noxious Dews
Did sleep's unwholsom Fetters lose;
With Vapors chil'd, and misty air,
To fire-side 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 t