Tim. A traveller I, to thee unknown,
An honest man’s and woman’s son,
By hunger, thirst, and sickness undone,
And bound to Redriff first, then London.
But whose is that mug, pray? and spread,
For whom yon comfortable bed?
Mate. The bed’s our Captain’s bed, d’ye see—
I wish you’d let a body be—
The mug, you mean that has the grog in?
That, master, is the captain’s noggin.