“Time for us to go, Time for us to go, As well as ever a soul on board ’Twas time for us to go.”

Pew (sings)—

“We carried away the royal yard, and the stunsail boom was gone; Says the skipper, ’They may go or stand, I’m damned if I don’t crack on; So the weather braces we’ll round in, and the trysail set also, And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away, for it’s time for us to go.”

Give it mouth, Commander!

Pew and Kit (in chorus)—

“Time for us to go, Time for us to go, And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away, For it’s time for us to go.”

Pew. I ain’t sung like that since I sang to Admiral ’Awke, the night before I lost my eyes, I ain’t. “Sink me!” says he, says Admiral ’Awke, my old commander (touching his hat), “sink me!” he says, “if that ain’t ’art-of-oak,” he says: “’art-of-oak,” says he, “and a pipe like a bloody blackbird!” Commander, here’s my respecks, and the devil fly away with Admiral Guinea!

Kit. I say, Pew, how’s this? How do you know about Admiral Guinea? I say, Pew, I begin to think you know too much.

Pew. I ax your pardon; but as a man with a ’ed for argyment—and that’s your best p’int o’ sailing, Commander; intelleck is your best p’int—as a man with a ’ed for argyment, how do I make it out?

Kit. Aha, you’re a sly dog, you’re a deep dog, Pew; but you can’t get the weather of Kit French. How do I make it out? I’ll tell you. I make it out like this: Your name’s Pew, ain’t it? Very well. And you know Admiral Guinea, and that’s his name, eh? Very well. Then you’re Pew; and the Admiral’s the Admiral; and you know the Admiral; and by George, that’s all. Hey? Drink about, boys, drink about!