Patch: It 's frettin' does it, Captain.
Captain: What 's frettin' yer?
Patch: It 's what the ol' lady said last night. She hung me ter a gibbet, jest like ol' Flint. There 's a gibbet, Captain, on Wappin' wharf, jest 'round the corner from the Sailors' Rest. Does yer remember it, Captain? It makes yer grog belch on yer.
Captain: (to tease and frighten Patch). Aye. There was two sailormen hangin' there when I comes in a year ago.
Patch: Horrers!
Captain: Jest swingin' in the wind, and tryin' ter get their toes down comfertable. (He has hooked two empty mugs and he rocks them back and forth.) Jest reachin' with their footies ter ease theirselves.
"Jest swingin' in the wind"
Patch: The ol' lady last night made me a wee bit creepy. Gibbets and Wappin' wharf ain 't nothin' ter talk about.
Captain: I never see a flock o' crows but I asks their pardon fer keepin' 'em waitin' fer their supper. Crows, Patch, is fond o' yer as yer are, without neither sauce ner gravy—jest pickin' 'appy, soup ter nuts, at yer dry ol' bones. Here 's ol' Patch, they says, waitin' in the platter fer his 'ungry guests ter come.