of Cornwall,
Countess of Devon, Princess of the Western Marches, by right and title
possessor of all land 'twixt Exeter and Land's End. And now, by her
consent and the grace of God, the wife of Harry, King of England.

CAPTAIN: Leetle Betsy, I fergives yer.

DUKE: I asks yer health, though I swings termorrer.

PATCH: And may yer live long and 'appy!

DARLIN': We 're lovin' yer, Betsy.

BETSY: My gracious lord, for these three years this cabin has been my
home. These are my friends--the only friends I have ever known. They
fed me when I had no food and they kept me warm against the cold. Must
they hang? I ask you to pardon them.

DARLIN': Glory ter God!

JOE: The pardon is granted. Captain, strike off their irons!

DARLIN': We loves yer, Betsy.

CAPTAIN: We are fonder of yer than grog and singin' angels.

PATCH: I thanks yer, King.

DUKE: It were jest an hour ago, settin' in that chair, I asks ter
splice yer, Betsy, keel ter topsail. The ol' Duke never thought the
Countess of all them places, and the Queen o' England, ter boot, would
ever be settin' on his knee, pullin' at his whiskers--him askin' her
ter name the 'appy day.

BETSY: It was a prior attachment, Duke.

CAPTAIN: We 'll serve yer, King, like we served ol' Flint.

PATCH: Top and bottom, fore and aft.

DUKE: We 'll brag how the King o' England and us has drunk grog
together, and how the Queen washed up the mugs.

MEG: (_in a whisper_). Hooray!

JOE: And now, Captain, lead the way. We must speed to London.

BETSY: Good by, Duke. Some day you will find a girl who cooks roast
pig that crackles.

DUKE: A blessin', Betsy, on yer laughin' eyes!

CAPTAIN: A health ter King Hal and his blushin' bride!

ALL: King Hal! Leetle Betsy!

(_With a wave of the hand Joe departs, and with him, Betsy, who kisses
her fingers to the pirates in farewell. The sailors follow. The
pirates and Darlin' are left. The pirates sit at the table. They
exchange glances of satisfaction. They unbutton for a quiet evening at
home. Kings are but an episode in a pirate's life. They return to the
happy routine of their lives. Our adventure has circled to its
start._)

PATCH: Darlin'! Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. Yer had better mix
another pot o' grog. Yer does n't want ter be a foolish virgin and get
ketched without no grog.

DARLIN': (_at the fire_). Yer coddles yer stomich, Patch.

PATCH: The Duke, he knows a leetle dear as is jest waitin' ter come
flutterin'