Captain: Ain 't we listenin' to yer? Yer can talk spry, as Patch here has a leetle job ter do, and it 's nearin' bed time.
Duke: We does n't want ter sit up late and lose our beauty sleep jest listenin' to a speech.
Joe: A pirate takes his chance of death. You guard your dirty skins by wrecking ships upon the rocks. You dare not pit yourselves against a breathing victim. Like carrion-crows you sit to a vile and bloated banquet.
Patch: Tip me the wink, Captain, when yer has heard enough.
Joe: Stand off, you whelp! The King of England fights in France—
Duke: Ain 't yer 'shamed that you is not there ter help?
Joe: I 'll tell you why I am not in France. I swore to his majesty that I would clear his coast of pirates. My plans are made. The channel is swept by gunboats. They will close in on you tomorrow—you and all the dirty vermin that befoul these cliffs.
Duke: He talks so big, ye 'd think he was the King himself.
(Everyone laughs at this. The Duke takes the cloak from the chest. In derision he hangs it across Red Joe's shoulders.)
Duke: We 'll play ch'rades. Here 's yer costume, Joey. There! It fits yer like the skin o' a snake. We makes yer King. Yer looks like yer was paradin' in St. James's park, lampin' a Duchess.