[F] A seaport town in the S. W. quarter of Jamaica.--_Freneau's note, 1788 edition._ VII. EZEKIEL: _a Rhode-Island Lawyer_ The sixth, and the last, that attended our journey, Was a man of the law, a Rhode-Island attorney, As cunning as Satan to argue or plead, To break an entailment, or get himself fee'd They call'd him Ezekiel--I cannot tell what-- Perhaps I forget it--perhaps I do not-- He had once been a parson, and studied at Yale,[G] But took to the law, when his preaching grew stale; In his system of thinking, not well understood, I wander'd about, like a man in a wood; From morning 'till night he was nothing but whim, Not a man in the town held opinions, like him: In regard to the vulgar, he argued that Law Was better than preaching, to keep them in awe: That the dread of a gallows had greater effect, And a post or a pillory claim'd more respect From a knave--and would sooner contribute to mend, Than all the grave precepts that ever were penn'd. [G] Yale College in New-Haven.--_Freneau's note, 1788 edition._ VIII. _The Chapter of_ DEBATES Having pitch'd on our party, there rose a dispute On the mode of conveyance--in waggon or boat? For my part, said Snip, I was always afraid Of sailors, and sloops and the shallopman's trade, And the reason thereof I will candidly tell, My grandmother, Mopsy, was drown'd in a well; I therefore intreat you, and fervently pray We may go with the waggons the Burlington way. "Hold, master," the sailor replied in a fret, "The devil's not ready to bait for you yet: Even this way, you know, there is water to pass, And twenty long miles we should sail with an ass;-- But, gentlemen all, will you take my advice? Here's Albertson's[H] sloop; she's so new and so nice, Her bottom so sleek, and her rigging so trim, Not Bailey[H] or Hyde[H] can be mentioned with him; In her cabbin and steerage is plenty of room, And how clever she looks with her flying jib-boom, A topsail aloft, that will stand by the wind, And a yard rigg'd athwart, for a squaresail design'd. "Odds fish! I would sooner some little delay Than go, like a booby, the fresh-water way Where your cream-colour'd captains ne'er swear a bad word, And sail without compass or quadrant on board, Catch catfish and sturgeons, but never a whale, Nor balance a mizen, to fight with the gale: But Albertson goes by the route of Cape May, Salt-water, and sees the bold porpusses play: Where the shore of the coast the proud ocean controuls He travels, nor strikes on the Barnegat shoals." "You tar-smelling monster! (Snipinda rejoin'd) Your jargon has almost distracted my mind. If Snip should be drownded, and lost in the sea, You never once think what a loss it would be! I should then be a widow, dejected and sad And where would I find such another sweet lad! And Doctor Sangrado a letter has wrote,