But though he all has spent,
Again he’ll wield the plow,
And sing right merrily
As any of us now. [177]
Next comes a skipper bold,
He’ll do his part right weel—
A clever blade I’m told
As ever pozed a keel.
He is a bonny lad,
As you must understand;
It’s he can dance on deck,
And you’ll see him dance on land.
To join us in this play
Here comes a jolly dog,
Who’s sober all the day—
If he can get no grog.
But though he likes his grog,
As all his friends do say,
He always likes it best
When other people pay.
Last I come in myself,
The leader of this crew;
And if you’d know my name,
My name it is ‘True Blue.’
Here the Bessy gives an account of himself.
My mother was burnt for a witch,
My father was hanged on a tree,
And it’s because I’m a fool
There’s nobody meddled wi’ me.
The dance now commences. It is an ingenious performance, and the swords of the actors are placed in a variety of graceful positions, so as to form stars, hearts, squares, circles, &c. &c. The dance is so elaborate that it requires frequent rehearsals, a quick eye, and a strict adherence to time and tune. Before it concludes, grace and elegance have given place to disorder, and at last all the actors are seen fighting. The Parish Clergyman rushes in to prevent bloodshed, and receives a death-blow. While on the ground, the actors walk round the body, and sing as follows, to a slow, psalm-like tune:—
Alas! our parson’s dead,
And on the ground is laid;
Some of us will suffer for’t,
Young men, I’m sore afraid.