Now Ralph gets out his pistol, he sings a beautiful farewell, the Chorus turns away weeping--the sailors have just cleaned up and they cannot bear the sight of the deck all spoiled with a British sailor's brains so soon after scrubbing! Ralph lifts the pistol, takes aim--and Josephine rushes on. "Oh, stay your hand--I love you," she cries, and in less than a minute everybody is dancing a hornpipe, except Deadeye. Deadeye is no socialist. He really thinks this equality business which makes it possible for a common sailor to marry the Captain's daughter is most reprehensible. But nobody notices Dick. Everybody is quite happy and satisfied now, and they plan for the wedding. Dick plans for revenge. He goes apart to think matters over. The situation quite shocks his sense of propriety. Meantime the crew and Ralph and Josephine decide that: This very night, With bated breath And muffled oar, Without a light, As still as death, We'll steal ashore. A clergyman Shall make us one At half-past ten, And then we can Return, for none Can part us then. Thus the matter is disposed of. ACT II It is about half-past ten, and everything ready for the elopement. The Captain is on deck playing a mandolin while holding a most beautiful pose (because Little Buttercup is also "on deck," and looking sentimentally at him). The Captain sings to the moon, quite as if there were no one there to admire him; because while this "levelling" business is going on in the Navy there seems no good reason why Buttercup or any other thrifty bumboat lady shouldn't do a little levelling herself. Now to marry the Captain--but just now, even though it is moonlight and a very propitious moment, there is other work on hand than marrying the Captain. She can do that almost any time! But at this moment she has some very mysterious and profound things to say to him. She tells him that: Things are seldom what they seem, Skim milk masquerades as cream. High-lows pass as patent leathers, Jackdaws strut in peacock feathers. And the Captain acquiesces. Black-sheep dwell in every fold. All that glitters is not gold. Storks turn out to be but logs. Bulls are but inflated frogs. And again the Captain wisely acquiesces. Drops the wind and stops the mill. Turbot is ambitious brill. Gild the farthing if you will, Yet it is a farthing still. And again the Captain admits that this may be true. It is quite, quite painful if it is. On the whole, the Captain fears she has got rather the best of him, so he determines to rally; he philosophises a little himself, when he has time. He has time now: Tho' I'm anything but clever, he declares rhythmically, even truthfully; I could talk like that forever, Once a cat was killed by care, Only brave deserve the fair. He has her there, beyond doubt, because all she can say is "how true."