"Bad enough," said the captain; "they agree together like a whale and a thrasher."
"Ah! I thought so," said the god of the sea. "His royal highness should take a leaf out of my book: never allow it to be doubtful who is commanding officer."
"And pray what might your majesty's specific be, to cure a bad wife?" said the captain.
"Three feet of the cross-jack brace every morning before breakfast, for a quarter of an hour, and half an hour on a Sunday."
"But why more on a Sunday than any other day?" said the captain.
"Why?" said Neptune, "why, because she'd been keeping Saturday night, to be sure; besides, she has less to do of a Sunday, and more time to think of her sins, and do penance."
"But you would not have a prince strike a lady, surely?"
"Wouldn't I? No to be sure, if she behave herself as sich, on no account; but if she gives tongue, and won't keep sober, I'd sarve her as I do Amphy—don't I, Amphy?" chucking the goddess under the chin. "We have no bad wives in the bottom of the sea: and so if you don't know how to keep 'em in order, send them to us."
"But your majesty's remedy is violent; we should have a rebellion in
England, if the king was to beat his wife."
"Make the lords in waiting do it then," said the Surly god; "and if they are too lazy, which I dare say they are, send for a boatswain's mate from the Royal Billy—he'd sarve her out, I warrant you; and, for half a gallon of rum, would teach the yeomen of the guard to dance the binnacle hornpipe into the bargain."