Enticing grapes and honey were produced,
And when my parched palate prompts my hand,
My qualmish stomach sends its veto up.
Baboon-faced John projects my certain cure,
And gives me burnt bread sopped in scalding wine.
I go to the Corregidor, and there
Find Murray’s information is confirmed.
I write to Colonel Peacock, and resolve
To take the shortest road to Vigo Bay,
Passing the Minho, by a ferry boat....