a ball, as you scholars have it; and so ’tis right to make one ballroom of it. Dance on, lads, you’re young; I was once.

3D NANTUCKET SAILOR. Spell oh! — whew! This is worse than pulling after whales in a calm — give us a whiff, Tash.

(They cease dancing, and gather in clusters. Meantime the sky darkens — the wind rises.)

LASCAR SAILOR. By Brahma! Boys, it’ll be douse sail soon. The sky-born, high-tide Ganges turned to wind! Thou showest thy black brow, Seeva!

MALTESE SAILOR. (Reclining and shaking his cap.) It’s the waves — the snow’s caps turn to jig it now. They’ll shake their tassels soon. Now would all the waves were women, then I’d go drown, and chassee with them evermore!