dutch sailor. grand snoozing to-night, maty; fat night for that. i mark this in our old mogul’s wine; it’s quite as deadening to some as filliping to others. we sing; they sleep—aye, lie down there, like ground-tier butts. at ’em again! there, take this copper-pump, and hail ’em through it. tell ’em to avast dreaming of their lasses. tell ’em it’s the resurrection; they must kiss their last, and come to judgment.