a carcase. I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing. Such a waggish leering as lurks in all your horribles! I feel funny. Fa, la! Lirra, skirra! What’s my juicy little pear at home doing now? Crying its eyes out? — Giving a party to the last arrived harpooneers, I dare say, gay as a frigate’s pennant, and so am I — fa, la!

Lirra, skirra! Oh —

We’ll drink to-night with hearts as light,

To love, as gay and fleeting

As bubbles that swim, on the beaker’s brim,

And break on the lips while meeting.

A brave stave that — who calls? Mr. Starbuck? Aye, aye, sir — (Aside) he’s my superior, he has his too, if I’m not mistaken. — Aye, aye, sir, just through with this job — coming.