Butts. Peace! Peace, Mother Carey, hear your chickens screech! Come, boys!
[Singing.
| The captain was thirsty, and so was each man, They ladled the grog out by cup and by can, The night it was stormy, they knew not the place, And they sang as they sank the following grace,— | |
| To-wit: | |
| All. | A-sinkety, sinkety, sink, sank, sunk, Our captain is tipsy, our mate is quite drunk, Our widows we leave to the world's tender care And we don't give a damn for the Devil! |
Ha! Ha! Ha!
Carey. O, Lord! O, Lord! If the magistrates should hear that song, they'd close my place!
Butts. There, there now. [Chucks her under the chin.] The magistrates are not as quick to hear a sailor sing as thou art to take his orders. Bring us a pint apiece.
Carey. Thou naughty man! [Slaps his jaws.] A pint apiece?
[Exit.
Butts. Aye. Now, lads, bargain out your time; ye'll not see a petticoat for many a day.
[Lights pipe and sits.