Fair moon, to thee I sing, Bright regent of the heavens; Say, why is everything Either at sixes or at sevens? I have lived hitherto Free from breath of slander, Beloved by all my crew-- A really popular commander. But now my kindly crew rebel; My daughter to a tar is partial; Sir Joseph storms, and, sad to tell, He threatens a court martial! Fair moon, to thee I sing, Bright regent of the heavens; Say, why is everything Either at sixes or at sevens? _But._ How sweetly he carols forth his melody to the unconscious moon! Of whom is he thinking? Of some high-born beauty? It may be! (_Sighing._) Who is poor Little Buttercup that she should expect his glance to fall on one so lowly! And yet if he knew---- [_CAPTAIN has come down from poop-deck._ _Capt._ Ah! Little Buttercup, still on board? That is not quite right, little one. It would have been more respectable to have gone on shore at dusk. _But._ True, dear Captain--but the recollection of your sad pale face seemed to chain me to the ship. I would fain see you smile before I go. _Capt._ Ah! Little Buttercup, I fear it will be long before I recover my accustomed cheerfulness, for misfortunes crowd upon me, and all my old friends seem to have turned against me! _But._ Oh no--do not say “all,” dear Captain. That were unjust to one, at least. _Capt._ True, for you are staunch to me. (_Aside._) If ever I gave my heart again, methinks it would be to such a one as this! (_Aloud._) I am deeply touched by your innocent regard for me, and were we differently situated, I think I could have returned it. But as it is, I fear I can never be more to you than a friend. _But._ (_change of manner_). I understand! You hold aloof from me because you are rich and lofty--and I, poor and lowly. But take care! The poor bumboat woman has gipsy blood in her veins, and she can read destinies. There is a change in store for you! _Capt._ A change! _But._ Ay--be prepared! DUET.--LITTLE BUTTERCUP AND CAPTAIN. _But._ Things are seldom what they seem: Skim milk masquerades as cream; Highlows pass as patent leathers; Jackdaws strut in peacocks’ feathers. _Capt._ (_puzzled_). Very true, So they do. _But._ Black sheep dwell in every fold All that glitters is not gold; Storks turn out to be but logs; Bulls are but inflated frogs. _Capt._ (_puzzled_). So they be, Frequentlee. _But._ Drops the wind and stops the mill; Turbot is ambitious brill; Gild the farthing if you will, But it is a farthing still.