RICHARD.
Success if you will,—but God send me away.
JOHN.
Ah! you lubberly landsmen don't know when you're well;
Hadst thou known half the hardships of which I can tell!
The sailor has no place of safety in store—
From the tempest at sea, to the press-gang on shore!
When Roguery rules all the rest of the earth,
God be thanked in this corner I've got a good birth.
Talk of hardships! what these are the sailor don't know!
'Tis the soldier my friend that's acquainted with woe,
Long journeys, short halting, hard work and small pay,
To be popt at like pidgeons for sixpence a day!—
Thank God! I'm safe quarter'd at Botany Bay.
JOHN:
Ah! you know but little! I'll wager a pot
I have suffer'd more evils than fell to your lot.
Come we'll have it all fairly and properly tried,
Tell story for story, and Dick shall decide.
SAMUEL:
Done.
JOHN:
Done. 'Tis a wager and I shall be winner;
Thou wilt go without grog Sam to-morrow at dinner.