FOURTH ENTRY. 



THE STRAITS OF MALACCA. 



' ' Sometimes we see a cloud that's dragonish ; 

 A vapour sometimes like a bear or lion. 

 A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock, 

 A forked mountain or blue promontory 

 With trees upon't that nod unto the world, 

 And mock our eyes with air. " 



N board ship one does not feel inclined to work hard. 

 The motion of the vessel, the insufficient lights 

 below, or the liberties taken by the wind with your 

 papers on deck, tempt you with all manner of excuses. 

 Before commencing your voyage you have puffed yourself 

 up with commendable resolutions, and cumbered your bag- 

 gage with formidable materials for hard work. Every travel- 

 ler, I believe, does the same ; and every traveller, I believe, 

 ends by abandoning himself to unblushing indolence. For 

 a few days you play at hide-and-seek with conscience, and in 

 the end, persuading yourself that the heat or cold is fatal to 

 mental exertion, lock up your papers, and take out old book 

 acquaintances, to renew former loves and hold sweet 

 counsel with tried friends. In the tropical seas Shakespeare 



