you will upset
us, as sure as----

DISCIPULA. Just see if I do. Let me hold the helm. Oh yes, let me!

PISCATOR. But scholar! good scholar! dear scholar!

DISCIPULA. No, no, I wont give it up! you can't have it! Honest Mr.
Piscator, let me steer the boat, only a little way! Oh, but I will; and
there is no use in your trying to prevent me. See there now, haven't we
come round to our course in good style?

PISCATOR. A taste of power to those who are unaccustomed to it is always
dangerous, and I blame myself for permitting you to usurp the post of
pilot. Though, as you seem determined to maintain it, I cannot choose but
to sit down here quietly, and trust our lives to your skill. My life
indeed! But yours? Seriously now, my fair young lady, would it not be
wiser----

DISCIPULA. Seriously now, my careful master, I don't think it would. Why,
what would you have? Are we not skimming over the waves like a sea-bird
free? And see those two birds, how they dash by us, and wheel round over
us, and breast the gale! Oh master! wouldn't you like to be a sea-bird,
and swing sideways, with your face to the wind that almost took your
breath away, swing down, down, glance against the water, then on the other
side, swing up, up? And wouldn't it be sweet too to struggle your way up
through the storm, high over that cloud yonder, with the thunder on its
inside and the lightning on its out--then fold your wings, close your
eyes, and fall calmly down on to its dark, soft, bosom? Oh, wouldn't it be
sweet?

PISCATOR. My dear scholar, our landing place lies here, toward the
north-east, and you are running directly north.

DISCIPULA. Don't be under any apprehensions; I am only going to run out
half a mile farther, that we may get before the wind, and then we'll scud
straight toward home. And beside, we rock more, going in this direction. I
wish it would blow harder, and make more swell! You know now, Mr.
Piscator, how a wild swan feels when he sits on the water and is buoyed up
on the heaving wave, and in a breath sinks into the black abyss. If I were
a wild swan I would go to sleep and let the winds blow and the waters
heave! How the boat careens over and plunges down when the blast whistles
against the masts! Drive on! Drive on! my light gallant bark! Oh, my
master! shall I sing you a song? a little song of the sea? a pirate song?

PISCATOR. You look at this present moment as if you might sing a pirate
song, or be a pirate yourself. I