Those Chaps There Are Worse Yet.

Spanish sailor, no. Dago showing his teeth. English sailor, fair play. Snatch the spaniard's knife. Old manx sailor, ready formed. Torison in that ring,. cane struck abel, sweet, work, right. No. Why then, god, madtest thou, the ring mate's voice from the quarter deck. Hands by the haliards in topgallant sails, stand by to reef topsails. All the squall. The squall jump. My jollies, they scatter. Pip. Crish Crash. There goes the jib. Blang, wang. God, duck. Lower pip. Here comes the royal yard