O thou Goddeſſe, / Thou diuine Nature; thou thy ſelfe thou blazon'ſt / In theſe two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle / As Zephires blowing below the Violet, / Not wagging his ſweet head; …
By this time I hadn't much doubt of the nature of the trap and the identity of the trapping vessel. The faint smell of alcohol in the forehold told the story. I had been sandbagged and taken aboard a bootlegging craft, shanghaied in good old-fashioned style; and the vessel was probably now on its way to the Bahamas for a cargo of spirits.
'Tis the marrow of health In the forest to lie, Where, nooking in stealth, They enjoy her supply
Were it to search the furthest Northern clime / Where frosty Hyems with an ycie Mace / Strikes dead all living things, Ide find it out, / And borrowing fire from those fayre sunny eyne / Thaw Winters frost and warme that dead cold clime: […]
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