Servant. He's in the state-room.
Boatswain. It's time for him to turn out; tell him I want to speak to him.
Servant. I dare not do it, Boatswain; it's more than my life is worth.
Boatswain. Damn your squeamish stomach, go directly, or I'll go myself.
Servant. For God's sake! Boatswain—
Boatswain. Damn your eyes, you pimping son of a bitch, go this instant, or I'll stick my knife in your gammons.
Servant. O Lord! Boatswain. [Servant goes.]
Boatswain [solus]. What the devil—keep a pimp guard here, better station the son of a bitch at the mast head, to keep a look out there, lest Admiral Hopkins be upon us.
Enter Kidnapper.
Kidnapper. What's your will, Boatswain?