Screeches the creature in pain, and writhes till the sea is commotum,
As if all its waves had been lashed in a tempest por Eurum et Notum.
Interea terrible shindy Neptunus sensit, et alto
Prospiciens sadly around, wiped his eye with the cuff of his paletôt;
And, mad at his favorite’s fate, of oaths uttered one or two thousand,
Such as “Corpo di Bacco! Mehercle! Sacre! Mille Tonnerres! Potztausend!”
But the skipper, who thought it was time to this terrible fight dare finem,
With a scalping-knife jumps on the neck of the snake secat et dextrâ crinem,
And hurling the scalp in the air, half mad with delight to possess it,
Shouts “Darn it—I’ve fixed up his flint, for in ventos vita recessit!”