I don’t like your floor, maty; it’s too springy to my taste. I’m used to ice-floors. I’m sorry to throw cold water on the subject; but excuse me.
Maltese sailor .
Me too; where’s your girls? Who but a fool would take his left hand by his right, and say to himself, how d’ye do? Partners! I must have partners!
Sicilian sailor .
Aye; girls and a green!—then I’ll hop with ye; yea, turn grasshopper!
Long-Island sailor .
Well, well, ye sulkies, there’s plenty more of us. Hoe corn when you may, say I. All legs go to harvest soon. Ah! here comes the music; now for it!
Azore sailor .
Ascending, and pitching the tambourine up the scuttle. Here you are, Pip; and there’s the windlass-bitts; up you mount! Now, boys!
The half of them dance to the tambourine; some go below; some sleep or lie among the coils of rigging.
Oaths aplenty.
Azore sailor .
Dancing.
- Go it, Pip!
- Bang it, bellboy!
- Rig it, dig it, stig it, quig it, bellboy!
- Make fireflies; break the jinglers!
Pip .