Chapter 19

SERJEANT. Damn 'em, I'd rather see half their weight in beef.

BOATSWAIN. Aye, curse their stomachs, or mutton either; then our Cook wou'dn't be so damn'd lazy as he is, strutting about the deck like a nobleman, receiving Paramount's pay for nothing.

SERJEANT. Walk faster, damn your black heads. I suppose, Boatswain, when this hell-cat reg'ment's complete, they'll be reviewed in Hyde park?----

BOATSWAIN. Aye, blast my eyes, and our Chaplain with his dirty black gown, or our Cook, shall be their general, and review 'em, for he talks of throwing up his pot-halliards commission, in hopes of it.

SERJEANT. Ha, ha, ha.----

COOK. I'd see the devil have 'em first.----

[_Exeunt SERJEANT, &c._