1St Nantucket sailor

Oh, boys, don’t be sentimental. it’s bad for the digestion! 
Take a tonic, follow me! (Sings, and all follow)
           Our captain stood upon the deck,
             A spy-glass in his hand,
           A viewing of those gallant whales
             That blew at every strand. 
           Oh, your tubs in your boats, my boys,
             And by your braces stand,
           And we’ll have one of those fine whales,
             Hand, boys, over hand! 
      So, be cheery, my lads! may your hearts never fail! 
      While the bold harpooneer is striking the whale!

MATE’S VOICE FROM THE QUARTER-DECK

Eight bells there, forward!

2Nd Nantucket sailor

Avast the chorus!  Eight bells there! d’ye hear, bell-boy?  Strike the bell eight, thou Pip! thou blackling! and let me call the watch.  I’ve the sort of mouth for that—­the hogshead mouth.  So, so, (thrusts his head down the scuttle,) Star-bo-l-e-e-n-s, a-h-o-y!  Eight bells there below!  Tumble up!

DUTCH SAILOR

Grand snoozing to-night, maty; fat night for that.  I mark this in our old Mogul’s wine; it’s quite as deadening to some as filliping to others.  We sing; they sleep—­aye, lie down there, like ground-tier butts.  At ’em again!  There, take this copper-pump, and hail ’em through it.  Tell ’em to avast dreaming of their lassies.  Tell ’em it’s the resurrection; they must kiss their last, and come to judgment.  That’s the way—­that’s it; thy throat ain’t spoiled with eating Amsterdam butter.

FRENCH SAILOR

Hist, boys! let’s have a jig or two before we ride to anchor in Blanket Bay.  What say ye?  There comes the other watch.  Stand by all legs!  Pip! little Pip! hurrah with your tambourine!

Pip (Sulky and sleepy)

Don’t know where it is.

FRENCH SAILOR

Beat thy belly, then, and wag thy ears.  Jig it, men, I say; merry’s the word; hurrah!  Damn me, won’t you dance?  Form, now, Indian-file, and gallop into the double-shuffle?  Throw yourselves!  Legs! legs!

ICELAND SAILOR

I don’t like your floor, maty; it’s too springy to my taste.  I’m used to ice-floors.  I’m sorry to throw cold water on the subject; but excuse me.

MALTESE SAILOR

Me too; where’s your girls?  Who but a fool would take his left hand by his right, and say to himself, how d’ye do?  Partners!  I must have partners!

SICILIAN SAILOR

Aye; girls and a green!—­then I’ll hop with ye; yea, turn grasshopper!