int had a fist and an iron wrist,
And he thumped on the nose, it is said,
Till a wictim's gore ran over the floor
And he rolled in the scuppers dead.
But, Patch, there 's a few, I 'm tellin' ter you,
Who 's nice and they hates a muss,
And a plank, I contend, is a tidier end.
No sweepin', nor scrapin', nor fuss.

Captain Kidd, when afloat, put the crew in a boat,
And he shoved 'em off fer to starve.
On a rock in the sea, says he ter me--on a rock
In the sea, says he ter me--on a rock--

(_The singer's voice fails. Sleep engulfs him. Silence! Then sounds of
snoring. The range of Caucasus hath not noisier winds. Let's draw the
curtain on the tempest!_)

[Illustration]

[Illustration: ACT II]

ACT II

_It is the same cabin on the following night. There is no thunder and
lightning, but it is a dirty night of fog--as wet as a crocodile's
nest--and you hear the water dripping from the trees. The Duke,
evidently, has had an answer to his "Now I lay me." The lighthouse, as
before, shows vaguely through the mist._

_In this scene we had wished to have a moon. The Duke will need it
presently in his courtship; for marvelously it sharpens a lover's
oath. 'T is a silver spur to a halting wooer. Shrewd merchants, I am
told, go so far as to consult the almanac when laying in their store
of wedding fits; for a cloudy June throws Cupid off his aim. What
cosmetic--what rouge or powder--so paints a beauty! If the moon were
full twice within the month scarcely a bachelor would be left. I pray
you, master carpenter, hang me up a moon. But our plot has put its
foot down. "Mirk," it says, "mirk and fog are best for our dirty
business."_

_We had wished, also, to place one act of our piece on the deck of a
pirate ship, rocking in a storm. Such high excitement is your right,
for your payment at the door. It required but the stroke of a lazy
pencil. But our plot has dealt stubbornly with us. We are still in the
pirates' cabin in the fog._

_We hear Darlin' singing in the kitchen, as the curtain rises._

[Music: DARLIN'S SONG]

Oh, I am the cook fer a pirate band
And food I never spoil.
Cabbage and such, it sure ain 't much,
Till I sets it on ter boil.
And I throws on salt and I throws on spice,
And the Duke, he says ter me,
Me Darlin', me pet, I 'm in yer debt,
And he sighs contentedlee.

(_There is a rattle of tinware. Pa