A sentimental journey through France and Italy

They order, said I, this matter better in France.-You have been in France? said my gentleman, turning quick upon me, with the most civil triumph in the world.-Strange! quoth I, debating the matter with myself, That one and twenty miles sailing, for 'tis absolutely no further from Dover to Calais, should give a man these rights:-I'll look into them: so, giving up the argument,-I went straight to my lodgings, put up half a dozen shirts and a black pair of silk breeches,-"the coat I have on," said I, looking at the sleeve, "will do;"-took a place in the Dover stage; and the packet sailing at nine the next morning,-by three I had got sat down to my dinner upon a fricaseed chicken, so incontestably in France, that had I died that night of an indigestion, the whole world could not have suspended the effects of the droits d'aubaine; [557]-my shirts, and black pair of silk breeches,-portmanteau and all, must have gone to the King of France;-even the little picture which I have so long worn, and so often have told thee, Eliza, I would carry with me into my grave, would have been torn from my neck!-Ungenerous! to seize upon the wreck of an unwary passenger, whom your subjects had beckoned to their coast!-By heaven! Sire, it is not well done; and much does it grieve me, 'tis the monarch of a people so civilized and courteous, and so renowned for sentiment and fine feelings, that I have to reason with!- But I have scarce set a foot in your dominions.-