The Savage Borders does divide; In such a shining odd invention, I scarce can give its due Dimention. The _Indians_ call this watry Waggon (e) _Canoo_, a Vessel none can brag on; Cut from a _Popular-Tree_ or _Pine_, And fashion'd like a Trough for Swine: In this most noble Fishing-Boat, I boldly put myself afloat; Standing erect, with Legs stretch'd wide, We paddled to the other side: Where being Landed safe by hap, As _Sol_ fell into _Thetis'_ Lap. A ravenous Gang bent on the stroul, Of (f) Wolves for Prey, began to howl; This put me in a pannick Fright, Least I should be devoured quite; But as I there a musing stood, And quite benighted in a Wood, A Female Voice pierc'd, thro' my Ears, Crying, _You Rogue drive home the Steirs_. I listen'd to th' attractive sound, And straight a Herd of Cattel found Drove by a Youth, and homeward bound; Cheer'd with the fight, I straight thought fit, To ask where I a Bed might get. The surley Peasant bid me stay, And ask'd from whom (g) I'de run away. Surprized at such a saucy Word, I instantly lugg'd out my Sword; Swearing I was no Fugitive, But from _Great-Britain_ did arrive, In hopes I better there might Thrive. To which he mildly made reply, _I beg your Pardon, Sir, that I Should talk to you Unmannerly; But if you please to go with me, To yonder House, you'll welcome be_. Encountring soon the smoaky Seat, The Planter old did thus me greet: "Whether you come from Goal or Colledge, You're welcome to my certain Knowledge; And if you please all Night to stay, My Son shall put you in the way." Which offer I most kindly took, And for a Seat did round me look; When presently amongst the rest, He plac'd his unknown _English_ Guest, Who found them drinking for a whet, A Cask of (h) Syder on the Fret, Till Supper came upon the Table, On which I fed whilst I was able. So after hearty Entertainment, Of Drink and Victuals without Payment; For Planters Tables, you must know, Are free for all that come and go. While (i) Pon and Milk, with (k) Mush well stoar'd, In Wooden Dishes grac'd the Board; With (l) Homine and Syder-pap, (Which scarce a hungry dog wou'd lap) Well stuff'd with Fat from Bacon fry'd, Or with _Mollossus_ dulcify'd. Then out our Landlord pulls a Pouch, As greasy as the Leather Couch On which he sat, and straight begun To load with Weed his _Indian_ Gun; In length, scarce longer than one's Finger. His Pipe smoak'd out with aweful Grace, With aspect grave and solemn pace; The reverend Sire walks to a Chest, Of all his Furniture the best, Closely confined within a Room, Which seldom felt the weight of Broom; From thence he lugs a Cag of Rum, And nodding to me, thus begun: I find, says he, you don't much care For this our _Indian_ Country Fare; But let me tell you, Friend of mine, You may be glad of it in time,