University of Virginia Library

WHEN Charles the First, long since came hither,
In stormy and tempestuous Weather,
With Royal Grant, to settle here,
A Province, worthy of his Care;
Leaving behind, to raise up Seed,
And tend a stinking Indian Weed,
Scotch, English, and Hybernians wild,
From Sloth and Idleness exil'd.
Tobacco, then, no Duty paid;
But Time has almost sunk the Trade,
And Imposts on our Staple laid.
From scorching Africa's burnt Shore,
Brought Aethiopian Slaves great Store.
More Weeds turn out, to Heat inur'd,
Than by the Populace are cur'd,
Makes it a Drug, as Merchants feel,
Whose Chance it is in Trash to deal;
Fit only to manure the Earth,
In Physick Gardens, finds good Birth.
But had old Galen known the Pains,
Planters are at, for little Gains,
He would have curst it long ago;
In Quarters here so fast doth grow.
Plebians by it scarce can live,
To naked Brats Subsistance give.

These petty Charges not a few,
With Subsidies both old and new,
As Factors tell us, run so high,
They swallow up our Industry.
In whose undoubted Word and Honour,
(That Female Idol,) Pox upon her,
Planters oblig'd are to confide,
Or learn to plow the Ocean wide;
Had better trust to Home-spun Sails;
Go sell their Labour at the Scales,
Than be, by Bills of Sale undone;
Glad to Cape Fair, at last to run.
And other Frauds us'd in the Trade,
Has almost Beggars of some made;
Had rather by Shop Notes be bit,
Hundred per Cent pay for their Wit,
When Pride ambitious is to shine,
In gaudy Feathers rich and fine,
Than in coarse Goods lay out their Tubs,
With Merchants here, unless 'tis Scrubs:
Has put them on their Guard, for why?
It's better deal for Currency,
Than be impos'd on at that Rate,
Mundungus take, unfit for Freight.

Thus, we go on, but do not see
What may the Issue of it be.
Take care the Poor may live and thrive,
Against the Stream are left to strive;
Wou'd be industrious, had we Pence,
Their Industry to recompence:
But to be paid with Indian Weed,
In Parcels, will not answer Need.
It's true, we may this Thread of Life
Spin out, in Penury and Strife;
Like Aesop's Swain, did Jove desire
To help his Cart out of the Mire;
To Jupiter at last apply,
For Help in our Extremity.
But Jove no Ear will lend to those,
That are their own unhappy Foes.
Then let us seriously reflect
Upon the worst we may expect,
Which is, with idle Drones to starve;
A Doom we justly do deserve:
Whilst blest with all Things here below,
That God and Nature can bestow,
To make us happy, would we be
Industrious as the frugal Bee,
That visits each mellifluous Flower,
To load with Tyme, her wooden Bower.
And tho a rich and fertile Soil,
As e're was water'd by the Nile,
Has luckily fell to our Share:
Yet maugre all our seeming Care:
We Strangers to the Goddess are.
Bright Ceres, whom the Poets feign,
To till the Ground, instructs the Swain,
By Industry t'improve his Lands,
Without the help of Savage Hands.

This is our Case, and will, I fear,
Grow worse and worse, the Course we steer.
Are grown too populous to thrive,
Upon a nauseous Vegetive.
And tho' the Law remains in Force,
The Market keeps its ebbing Course;
And will, unless, we settle here,
A Jubilee once in Five Year.
But as that may not take Perchance,
I will another Scheme advance,
Will do, says the projecting Don:
And thus in serious Tone went on.

All Taxables work in the Ground,
Both Male and Female that are sound,
Should be allow'd Six Hundred Weight,
Of Sotweed good, and fit for Freight,
To plant; and he that dares tend more,
Shou'd wear the Broad R on his Door:
Remain in Misericordia,
'Till he the Fine in Specie pay.
Merchants likewise, our Staple buy,
Shou'd be oblig'd in Currency,
Or Bills, for the Sixth Part, to pay
Upon the Nail, without Delay:
The rest in Goods, at common Sale,
Or be committed, without Bail.
And that we may the better thrive;
Which is the Business of the Hive,
We ought conveniently to dwell
In Towns and Cities, buy and sell
Our Merchandize at publick Scales.
And as it often rains and hails,
Warehouses should in common be
Erected; where, for a small Fee,
Our Staple would be convey'd thither,
Securely screen'd from stormy Weather.
There, free from anxious needless Care,
We may, at Leisure, vend our Ware;
Barter for Goods, as hath been said:
And ready Cash, that must be paid,
Our publick Duties to defray,
And old Arrears of Quit-Rents pay.
A Tax equivalent has laid
Upon Tobacco, must be paid,
By Merchants, that the same Export,
In Bills, before it quits the Port.
But what is worst for Patent Lands,
By others held, it Debtor stands.

I must confess, 'tis just and true,
That Caesar should be paid his Due:
But one Man to monopolize
More Land, than yet he occupies,
And Foreigners the Quit-Rents pay,
In Sterling Coin, is not fair Play:
A Grievance ought to be suppress'd,
By Ways and Means, Caesar knows best.
Thus, has our Staple of small Worth,
To many Evils given Birth:
That like Ill Weeds, unhappy Case,
As says the Proverb, grows a-pace;
Which, to prevent, Physicians say,
Our Laws chalk out a wholesome Way:
But what is so, to speak the Truth,
Does not agree with every Tooth;
Nor will the strictest penal Laws,
Contriv'd by Statesmen, strike the Cause.

The only Way I know to heal
The ling'ring State of Common-weal,
Is to ordain all Taxes be,
As well the Priest, as Lawyer's Fee,
Hereafter paid in Currency;
Or with the Produce of our Grounds,
In Stinkebus too much abounds;
Else, 'tis in vain for us to hope,
With our Misfortunes long to cope.

More wou'd loquatious Don have said,
Had Morpheus not come to my Aid,
The God of Sleep, with Leaden Charms,
Lock'd up the Planter in his Arms:
Where silent as the Night he lay,
Till Phosphor usher'd in the Day.