"Ebenezer Cook, Gent:" of London, 1708,--"_redivivus_,"--returned to America and turned Author again at Annapolis, under the auspices of our early Colonial printer, William Parks. But we have never seen this rare book, published twenty-two years after the _Sot-Weed Factor_ was first issued in England, and know nothing of its character or authorship. BRANTZ MAYER. Baltimore, October 20, 1865. [Footnote 1: Sot-Weed, i. e. the sot making or inebriating weed; a name for _tobacco_, used at that time. A Sot-weed Factor, was a tobacco agent or supercargo.] [Footnote 2: The "eastern shoar" of the Chesapeake bay: this portion of Maryland is still familiarly called so in that state.] THE Sot-Weed Factor; Or, a Voyage to Maryland, &c. Condemn'd by Fate to way-ward Curse, Of Friends unkind, and empty Purse; Plagues worse than fill'd _Pandora's_ Box, I took my leave of _Albion's_ Rocks: With heavy Heart, concerned that I Was forc'd my Native Soil to fly, And the _Old World_ must bid good-buy But Heav'n ordain'd it should be so, And to repine is vain we know: Freighted with Fools from _Plymouth_ sound To _Mary-Land_ our Ship was bound, Where we arrived in dreadful Pain, Shock'd by the Terrours of the Main; For full three Months, our wavering Boat, Did thro' the surley Ocean float, And furious Storms and threat'ning Blasts, Both tore our Sails and sprung our Masts; Wearied, yet pleas'd we did escape Such Ills, we anchor'd at the (a) _Cape_; But weighing soon, we plough'd the Bay, To (b) Cove it in (c) _Piscato-way_, Intending there to open Store, I put myself and Goods a-shoar: Where soon repair'd a numerous Crew, In Shirts and Drawers of (d) _Scotch-cloth Blue_ With neither Stockings, Hat nor Shooe. These _Sot-weed_ Planters Crowd the Shoar, In hue as tawny as a Moor: Figures so strange, no God design'd, To be a part of Humane kind: But wanton Nature, void of Rest, Moulded the brittle Clay in Jest. At last a Fancy very odd Took me, this was the Land of _Nod_; Planted at first, when Vagrant _Cain_, His Brother had unjustly slain; Then Conscious of the Crime he'd done From Vengeance dire, he hither run, And in a hut supinely dwelt, The first in _Furs_ and _Sot-weed_ dealt. And ever since his Time, the Place, Has harbour'd a detested Race; Who when they cou'd not live at Home, For refuge to these Worlds did roam; In hopes by Flight they might prevent, The Devil and his fell intent; Obtain from Tripple-Tree reprieve, And Heav'n and Hell alike deceive; But e're their Manners I display, I think it fit I open lay My Entertainment by the way: That Strangers well may be aware on, What homely Diet they must fare on. To touch that Shoar where no good Sense is found, But Conversation's lost, and Manners drown'd. I cros't unto the other side, A River whose impetuous Tide,