The Water Millon there, is one of the goodliest fruites that growes. I have seen of them, big as a Cloakbag, with a suit of clothes in it; purely green, engrayl’d with straw colour; And so wanton Nature is, in disposing those figures, as though they be upon all parts of the fruit; yet, they vary and flow so infinitely, as no inch of square or circle is to be found upon the rinde, that is like one another, and the whole rinde as smooth as polisht glasse. Where they put out upon the ground, there they lie; for the Vine they grow by, has not strength to remove them. This fruit within is not unlike an Apple for colour; but for taste, not like any fruit I know in _England_, waterish, and wallowish; yet the people there eat strange quantities of it, two or three pieces, big, as if cut round about a twelve-penny loafe, an inch thick: They hold it rarely cooling to the body, and excellent for the stone. The seeds are of themselves so strong a Purple, as to dye that part of the fruit it touches, of the same colour; and till they do so, the fruit is not full ripe: They account the largest, best. Extreamly full of seeds they are, which in the eating slip out with such ease, as they are not at all troublesome. [Sidenote: _Grapes._] Grapes we have in the Iland, and they are indifferently well tasted, but they are never ripe together; some may be pickt out to make Wine, but it will be so small a quantity, as it will not be worth the while. There is alwaies some green, some ripe, some rotten grapes in the bunch. [Illustration: The Plantine Blossomd page 80] [Sidenote: _Plantine._]