Tell 'em to avast dreaming of their lassies. There comes the other watch. Don't know where it is. I'm used to ice-floors. Well, well, ye sulkies, there's plenty more of us.
All legs go to harvest soon.
I save my sweat. I wonder whether those jolly lads bethink them of what they are dancing over. They'll shake their tassels soon. The mate there holds ye to it stiffly. Pines are the hardest sort of tree to live when shifted to any other soil, and here there's none but the crew's cursed clay.