18. Ship-building.
Now we have a distant view of a man-of-war (which is a great fighting ship) building at Deptford. You may see, by the boats in the front, how large it must be; for the further off any thing is, the smaller it looks; and yet it seems larger at this distance, than the boats which are close by. It is like a large floating house, with convenient apartments, sufficient to accommodate 800 people. Numbers of men have been at work on it for several years; and hundreds of fine oaks, which have been from fifty to a hundred years in growing, have been cut down to build it with: besides all the iron from Sweden, for bolts and nails; and fir-trees from Norway, for planks and masts; and copper from Cornwall, to cover its bottom with, to preserve it from being rotted by the sea-water and from other injuries; and the pitch, tar, paint, glue, and I cannot tell how many other things, which must be used before it is fit to swim. What a pity that all this expense and trouble should be wasted in contriving to kill our neighbours and destroy their property; when it might be employed to the advantage of both parties by promoting a friendly intercourse with each other.
19. Nosegays.
Through many a long and winding lane,
My wand’ring feet have stray’d;
While yet the drops of early rain
Were sparkling on the blade.Along the hedge I bent my way,
Where roses wild are seen;
Or cowslips peeping out so gay
Among the tangled green.Or primrose, with its pucker’d leaf
And simple early bloom;
Or violet, hiding underneath
The hedge’s shady gloom.With finger wet with morning dew,
And torn by many a spray,
My roses red, and violets blue,
I bound in posies gay.Before the sun has risen high,
And all their colours fade,
Come, lady fair, my posies buy,
Of modest wild-flow’rs made.
20. The Water-cress Girl,
Lady, lady, buy, I pray,
Water-cresses fresh and young;
Many miles I’m forced to stray,
Lanes and meadows damp among.
Stooping at the crystal brook,
By the morning light I’m seen:
Lady, lady, pray you look;
Buy my water-cresses green.’Tis the honest truth I tell,
These were gather’d fresh to-day;
I have cause to know it well,
By the long and weary way.
On my arm, so tann’d and brown,
So my little basket hung;
As I travell’d back to town,
With my water-cresses young.Hardly was a little bird
Stirring as I went along;
Not a waggon-wheel I heard,
Nor the ploughman’s cheery song.
Still upon the waters grey,
Mists of early morning hung;
Buy then, lady fair, I pray,
Buy my water-cresses young.
21. The Brewer’s Dray.
Here travels the brewer along with his dray,
And the horse seems as if he had something to say;
Now (tho’ between friends I am forced to confess
That I cannot quite hear him) I think I can guess:
“Good master,” perhaps, “do not give such a smack;
For even a dray-horse can feel on his back;
And surely ’tis fair that my labour should earn,
At least civil treatment from you in return.”