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 —When shall we get to land? captain—they have hearts like stones—O I am deadly sick!—reach me that thing, boy—'tis the most discomfiting sickness—I wish I was at the bottom—Madam! how is it with you? Undone! undone! un O! undone! sir—What the first time?—No, 'tis the second, third, sixth, tenth time, sir,—hey-day—what a trampling over head!—hollo! cabin boy! what's the matter—

The wind chopp'd about! s'Death!—then I shall meet him full in the face.

What luck!—'tis chopp'd about again, master—O the devil chop it

Captain, quoth she, for heaven's sake, let us get ashore.