Fall to thy work there, George, as I do here; Cherish the valiant up, cowards cashier: See that the men have pay, and beef, and beer. Find out the cheats of the four millioneer,-- Out of the very beer they sell the malt, Powder of pow der, from powder'd beef the salt. Put thy hand to the tub;--instead of ox, They victual with French pork that hath the p--. Never such cotqueens by small arts to wring; Ne'er such ill huswives in the managing; Pursers at sea know fewer cheats than they; Mariners on shore less madly spend their pay. See that thou hast new sails thyself, and spoil All their sea-market, and their cable coil. Look that good chaplains on each ship do wait, Nor the sea-diocese be impropriate: Look to the sick and wounded prisoners; all Is prize,--they even rob the hospital: Recover back the prizes too; in vain We fight, if all be taken that is ta'en. _Instructions to a Painter._ Note XXX. _As those who unripe veins in mines explore, On the rich bed again the warm turf lay, Till time digest the yet imperfect ore, And know it will be gold another day._ St. 139. p. 129. It was believed by the ancient chemists, that gold (the noblest of metals) was formed in the earth by a sort of chemical process, and might be detected in an imperfect state; in which case the miner's only resource was to close up the vein, and leave Nature to perfect the great work. It was this rooted and inveterate belief which caused so many to give faith to the fable of alchemy. For, if gold was thus gradually formed in the veins of the earth, the alchemist had only to discover the process which Nature pursued in her task, and he obtained the grand secret. Note XXXI. _The goodly London, in her gallant trim, The Phœnix-daughter of the vanished old._ St. 151. p. 131. The former vessel, called the London, had been destroyed by fire. The city now built a new vessel, under the name of the Loyal London, and presented her as a free gift to Charles. This ship was a favourite theme of the poets of the day: Whether by chance or plot the London died, She'll rise the Loyal London purified. That child, which doth from loyal parents spring, May brag that he's the godson of a king. * * * * * No sooner was blown out the London, when London took breath, and blew her in again. Another bard not only compares the ship to the city from which she derived her name, but proves the captain to be the Lord Mayor, with this slight difference, that he carries his own sword, instead of having a sword-bearer to take that trouble. The passage occurs in a "Poem upon his Majesty's late declarations for toleration, and publication of war against the Hollander, by T. S. of Grey's Inn, Esq."