Mess, I love to speak my mind. Father has nothing to do with
me. Nay, I can't say that neither; he has something to do with me.
But what does that signify? If so be that I ben't minded to be
steered by him; 'tis as thof he should strive against wind and tide.
Ay, but, my dear, we must keep it secret till the estate
be settled; for you know, marrying without an estate is like sailing
in a ship without ballast.
He, he, he; why, that's true; just so for all the world it is
indeed, as like as two cable ropes.
And though I have a good portion, you know one would not
venture all in one bottom.
Why, that's true again; for mayhap one bottom may spring a
leak. You have hit it indeed: mess, you've nicked the channel.
Well, but if you should forsake me after all, you'd
break my heart.
Break your heart? I'd rather the Mary-gold should break her
cable in a storm, as well as I love her. Flesh, you don't think I'm
false-hearted, like a landman. A sailor will be honest, thof mayhap
he has never a penny of money in his pocket. Mayhap I may not have
so fair a face as a citizen or a courtier; but, for all that, I've
as good blood in my veins, and a heart as sound as a biscuit.
A soldier and a sailor,
A tinker and a tailor,
Had once a doubtful strife, sir,
To make a maid a wife, sir,
Whose name was buxom Joan.
For now the time was ended,
When she no more intended
To lick her lips at men, sir,
And gnaw the sheets in vain, sir,
And lie o' nights alone.
The soldier swore like thunder,
He loved her more than plunder,
And shewed her many a scar, sir,
That he had brought from far, sir,
With fighting for her sake.
The tailor thought to please her
With offering her his measure.
The tinker, too, with mettle
Said he could mend her kettle,
And stop up ev'ry leak.
But while these three were prating,
The sailor slyly waiting,
Thought if it came about, sir,
That they should all fall out, sir,
He then might play his part.
And just e'en as he meant, sir,
To loggerheads they went, sir,
And then he let fly at her
A shot 'twixt wind and water,
That won this fair maid's heart.
If some of our crew that came to see me are not gone, you
shall see that we sailors can dance sometimes as well as other
folks. [Whistles.] I warrant that brings 'em, an they be within
hearing. [Enter seamen]. Oh, here they be--and fiddles along with
'em. Come, my lads, let's have a round, and I'll make one.
We're merry folks, we sailors: we han't much to care for.
Thus we live at sea; eat biscuit, and drink flip, put on a clean
shirt once a quarter; come home and lie with our landladies once a
year, get rid of a little money, and then put off with the next fair
wind. How d'ye like us?
Oh, you are the happiest, merriest men alive.
We're beholden to Mr Benjamin for this entertainment. I
believe it's late.
Why, forsooth, an you think so, you had best go to bed. For
my part, I mean to toss a can, and remember my sweet-heart, afore I
turn in; mayhap I may dream of her.
Mr Scandal, you had best go to bed and dream too.
Why, faith, I have a good lively imagination, and can dream
as much to the purpose as another, if I set about it. But dreaming
is the poor retreat of a lazy, hopeless, and imperfect lover; 'tis
the last glimpse of love to worn-out sinners, and the faint dawning
of a bliss to wishing girls and growing boys.
There's nought but willing, waking love, that can
Make blest the ripened maid and finished man.