We have here, but very few; and those do not like well the pasture, being very unfit for them; a soure tough and saplesse grasse, and some poysonous plant they find, which breeds diseases amongst them, and so they dye away, they never are fat, and we thought a while the reason had been, their too much heate with their wool, and so got them often shorne; but that would not cure them, yet the Ews bear alwayes two Lambs, their flesh when we tried any of them, had a very faint taste, so that I do not think they are fit to be bred or kept in that Countrey: other sheep we have there, which are brought from _Guinny_ and _Binny_, and those have haire growing on them, instead of wool; and liker Goates then sheep, yet their flesh is tasted more like mutton then the other. [Sidenote: _Goates._] We have in greater plenty, and they prosper farre better then the sheep, and I find little difference in the taste of their flesh, and the Goats here; they live for the most part in the woods, sometimes in the pasture, but are alwaies inclos’d in a fence, that they do not trespass upon their neighbours ground; for whosoever finds Hog or Goat of his neighbours, either in his Canes, Corne, Potatoes, Bonavist, or Plantines, may by the lawes of the Iland shoot him through with a Gun, and kill him; but then he must presently send to the owner, to let him know where he is. [Sidenote: _Birds._] The Birds of this place (setting two aside) are hardly worth the pains of describing; yet, in order, as I did the Beasts, I will set them down. The biggest is a direct Bussard, but somewhat lesse then our grey Bussards in _England_, somewhat swifter of wing; and the only good they do, is, sometimes to kill the Rats. The next to him in bignesse, is the larger Turtle Dove, and of them, there is great store in the Iland: ’tis a much handsomer bird, both in shape and colour, then ours in _England_, and is very good meat. Next to her is the lesser Turtle, a far finer bird then she, but of a contrary shape; for this is of the shape of a Partridge, but her plumidge gray, and a red brown under the wings; a pretier bird I do not know, of so few glorious colours; her tune like the other. The next is a bird like a Thrush, of a melancholly look, her feathers never smooth, but alwaies ruffled, as if she were muing, her head down, her shoulders up, as if her neck were broke. This bird has for three or four notes, the loudest and sweetest, that ever I heard; if she had variety, certainly no bird could go beyond her; she lookes alwaies, as it she were sick or melancholly.