The Sot-weed Factor | Page 2

now published, is taken from the London copy of 1708, as "Printed and sold by B. Bragg, at the Raven, in Pater-Noster-row (price 6d.)"
In Stevens's _Bibliotheca Americana_, 1861, we find the following title: "Sot-Weed Redivivus; or the Planters Looking-Glass. In Burlesque Verse, Calculated for the Meridian of Maryland, by E. C. Gent: _Annapolis_; _William Parks_, for the Author. 1730. viii and text 28 pp. 4��." Mr. Stevens describes the book as "alike curious as an early specimen of printing in Maryland, and as an example of American poetry."
"E. C. _Gent_:" of 1730, at Annapolis, may be the
"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,?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