Sir! sighting now thy Selfe, and Pallace Faire,
I find a novelty, and that most rare,
The time though cold and stormy, sharper Sun,
And far to Summer, scarce the Spring begun;
Yet with good lucke, in Februar, Saturnes prey
Have I not sought, and found out Fruitfull May,
Flank’d with the Marine Coast, prospective stands,
Right opposite to the Orcade Iles and Lands:
Where I for floures, ingorg’d strong grapes of Spaine,
And liquor’d French, both Red and white amaine: