We hear Darlin' singing in the kitchen, as the curtain rises.

DARLIN'S SONG

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Oh, I am the cook fer a pirate band
And food I never spoil.
Cabbage and such, it sure ain 't much,
Till I sets it on ter boil.
And I throws on salt and I throws on spice,
And the Duke, he says ter me,
Me Darlin', me pet, I 'm in yer debt,
And he sighs contentedlee.

(There is a rattle of tinware. Patch-Eye sings the next stanza in the loft.)

On the Strand, it 's true, I 'm tellin' ter you,
The Dukes and the Duchesses dwell.
And they dines in state on golden plate—
Eatin' and drinkin' like 'ell.
But I says ter you, and it 's perfectly true,
They stuffs theirselves too much;
And a mutton stew, when yer gets it through,
Is better than peacocks and such.

(More tinware in the kitchen. And now Darlin' again!)

I 've cooked in a brig to a dancin' jig
Which the sea kicks up in a blast.
And me stove 's slid 'round until I 've found
A rope ter make it fast.
But I braces me legs and the Duke, he begs
Fer puddin' with sweets on the side.
Me Darlin', it 's rough, and I likes yer duff.
I 'll marry yer, Darlin', me bride.

(In her reckless joy at this dim possibility she overturns the dishpan. During the song the Duke's legs have appeared on the ladder. He descends, fetching with him a comb and mirror.