On a due East course for Osaka, a jolly and sanguine Capt. Forthright rests muddy boots atop First Mate Margarine Buttersfield’s hairless head. Taking tugs of rum for one, with the First Mater thirsty and souring, the Captain sees Margarine’s sacrifice merely in the interest of prolonging an inevitable flogging. Tugged and capped, the Captain begins his soliloquy with dramatic delivery:
“My love! …is a fever…
longing still for that which no longer nurseth the disease.
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes
for they in thee a thousand errors see,
but tis my heart that loves what they despise,
who in spite of view are pleased to dote —
shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely, and more temperate.”
At this, the Captain ends his beautiful episode of elocution.
“sniff they were the most beautiful words I hurd, Cappy…” a smitten and ungrammatical Margarine blubbers, wiping his eyes on the Captain’s kind boots.
Capt. Forthright smiles a wry smile.
“Osaka silk lillies.”