(The Duke sits looking at the seaman's chest at the rear of the cabin. He is deep in thought.)
Duke: There 's jest one leetle thing I does n't understand. I asks yer. (He goes to the chest, opens it and draws out a rich velvet garment. He holds it up.) What 's the meaning o' this here loot we took at Castle Crag? I asks yer. Ain 't we been by that castle a hundred times? The Earl, he don 't wear clothes like this. None o' the arstocky does, 'cept when they struts on Piccadilly. I asks yer, Patch. I asks yer who wears a thing like that.
(He puts the garment around Patch's shoulders.)
Darlin': Yer looks like the Archbishop o' Canterbury.
Patch: (with strut and gesture). His Grice takin' the air—pluckin' posies.
Duke: Lookin' like a silly jackass.
Patch: Yer hurts me feelin's, Duke.
(The Duke folds the cloak and puts it back again in the chest. He sits at the table in meditation.)
Duke: I does n't like it, Patch. I does n't understand it. And what I does n't understand, I does n't like.
Patch: What?