Boatswain. Ah, my poor lad, you've climbed too high: our worthy captain's child won't have nothin' to say to a poor chap like you. Will she, lads?

All. No, no.

Dick. No, no, captains' daughters don't marry foremast hands.

All. (recoiling from him) Shame! shame!

Boatswain. Dick Deadeye, them sentiments o' yourn are a disgrace to our common natur'.

Ralph. But it's a strange anomaly, that the daughter of a man who hails from the quarter-deck may not love another who lays out on the fore-yard arm. For a man is but a man, whether he hoists his flag at the main-truck or his slacks on the main-deck.

Dick. Ah, it's a queer world!

Ralph. Dick Deadeye, I have no desire to press hardly on you, but such a revolutionary sentiment is enough to make an honest sailor shudder.

Boatswain. My lads, our gallant captain has come on deck; let us greet him as so brave an officer and so gallant a seaman deserves.

Page Created 22 May, 2005