Your boat is docked at the pier.

[…] and the arrow-shaped leaves of the blue spiked pondwort and rosy flowers of the persicaria, form a beautiful sight on hot sunny days.

[…] at Smyrna, you talked of a lawsuit—law is a lickpenny, Mr Tyrrel—no counsellor like the pound in purse.

My mind gives ye're reserv'd / To rob poor market women.