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 harpooner 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,)