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 thanks to Fortune and a Nurse Whose Care depended on my Purse, I saw myself in good Condition, Without the help of a Physitian: At length the shivering ill relieved, Which long my Head and Heart had grieved; I then began to think with Care, How I might sell my _British_ Ware, That with my Freight I might comply, Did on my Charter party lie; To this intent, with Guide before, I tript it to the Eastern Shoar; While riding near a Sandy Bay, I met a _Quaker_, _Yea_ and _Nay_; A Pious Consientious Rogue, As e'er woar Bonnet or a Brogue, Who neither Swore nor kept his Word But cheated in the Fear of God; And when his Debts he would not pay, By Light within he ran away. With this sly Zealot soon I struck A Bargain for my _English_ Truck Agreeing for ten thousand weight, Of _Sot-weed_ good and fit for freight, Broad Oronooko bright and sound, The growth and product of his ground; In Cask that should contain compleat, Five hundred of Tobacco neat. The Contract thus betwixt us made, Not well acquainted with the Trade, My Goods I trusted to the Cheat, Whose crop was then aboard the Fleet; And going to receive my own, I found the Bird was newly flown: Cursing this execrable Slave, This damn'd pretended Godly Knave; On dire Revenge and Justice bent, I instantly to Counsel went, Unto an ambodexter (ii) _Quack_, Who learnedly had got the Knack Of giving Glisters, making Pills, Of filling Bonds, and forging Wills; And with a stock of Impudence, Supply'd his want of Wit and Sense; With Looks demure, amazing People, No wiser than a Daw in Steeple; My Anger flushing in my Face, I stated the preceeding Case: And of my Money was so lavish, That he'd have poyson'd half the Parish, And hang'd his Father on a Tree For such another tempting Fee; Smiling, said he, the Cause is clear,