Boatman.
Bill, mind your luff—why Bill, I say, she’s yawing—keep her near!
Mrs. F.
Keep near! we’re going further off; the land’s behind our backs.
Boatman.
Be easy, Ma’am, it’s all correct, that’s only ‘cause we tacks:
We shall have to beat about a bit,—Bill, keep her out to sea.
Mrs. F.
Beat who about? keep who at sea?—how black they look at me!
Boatman.
It’s veering round—I knew it would! oft with her head! stand by!