(Hmmm... me thinks I'd better wash my hair..and mend me hose.. The old boys feathers are gettin ruffled...and that pesky Mistress Goody is sniffin the wind...)
When the word gets out that Gran has been careened and her bottom attended to - it will serve as a salutary lesson to the other sailorettes. I must think on how to deal with the treachery of my mistress of the scuttlebutt, the good snitch Palo, who has taken to rendering aid and, for all I know, comfort to the lovelorn habs.
By the nightgown of the virgin what have we here…. The deck's been scrubbed the bunk made up, my wench's hammock lashed and stowed. The scuppers cleaned I can even see the daylight filtering though. The bright works polished to a gleam her skirts and stays and furbelows have vanished from my sight. Where is the holy hose that decorated the binnacle since two bells and the odor of her rum and smoke have gone…Jasmine fills the air. Looks like a cabin of a Perfumed Pince, an Admiral, a Lordling of the Seas.
I think I saw my inamorata a while ago a washing her hair hard by an open book – two strange phenomena upon a single watch. I know she's heard of the plan for wench Goody to train our crew of thespians, and methinks that grannie wants to play fair Juliet. I wonder how far she could spit from the balcony.