The shire of gentlemen is scarce and dainty,
Yet there's relief in great abundance plenty,
Twixt it and England, little odds I see,
They eat, and live, and strong and able be,
So much in verse, and now I'll change my style,
And seriously I'll write in prose awhile.
To the purpose then: my first night's lodging in Scotland was at a place called Moffat, which they say, is thirty miles from Carlisle, but I suppose them to be longer than forty of such miles as are betwixt London and Saint Albans, (but indeed the Scots do allow almost as large measure of their miles, as they do of their drink, for an English gallon either of ale or wine, is but their quart, and one Scottish mile (now and then, may well stand for a mile and a half or two English) but howsoever short or long, I found that day's journey the weariest that ever I footed; and at night, being come to the town, I found good ordinary country entertainment: my fare and my lodging was sweet and good, and might have served a far better man than myself, although myself have had many times better: but this is to be noted, that though it rained not all the day, yet it was my fortune to be well wet twice, for I waded over a great river called Esk in the morning, somewhat more than four miles distance from Carlisle in England, and at night within two miles of my
