_Birb._ I’m no bragger, But, I must say, I’m not bad at a dagger, I’ve one to serve you with in any way, [_Aside._] And serve you out with, too, I hope, some day. _Conrad._ You’re very kind. _Birb._ But pardon the suggestion-- My dagger’s point was not the point in question. You asked for me-- _Conrad._ I might have done. Heigho! _Birb._ Pooh! try some drink--you’re several cups too low. _Conrad._ Nay, I have tried--I drained a flask this minute---- _Birb._ Well, when you’d drained it? _Conrad._ There was nothing in it. All things I’ve tried, but they bring no relief To the used-up, bored, _blase_ pirate chief. Travel I’ve tried, from place to place still dodging, You’ll find me _bored_ where’er you find me lodging. The stormy waves no change to me afford, For if I’m shipwrecked, still I’m over_board_; I’ve sought excitement east, west, north, and south, In battle-strife--e’en at the cannon’s mouth, But all in vain: amid the battle’s roar, I found the cannon’s mouth was but a _bore_! Enough of this. _Birb._ [_Aside._] Too much for me to stand; A pretty fellow to command our band. Oh, I should like to---- [_Raises dagger; CONRAD turns round; BIRBANTO bows after the approved style of melodrama._ _Conrad._ Where’s my galley? _Birb._ [_Pointing off R._] Sir, The _gal_ley’s there--that _buoy_’s attached to her. _Conrad._ Keep her in readiness to sail to-night, In case of accidents. D’ye hear? [_Same business with the dagger._ _Birb._ [_Bowing._] All right! [_Exit CONRAD, R._ It shall be so. We’ve stood him long enough-- A spoony, pining, sentimental muff; He’s not at all my notion of a Corsair-- I like black worsted curls and beard of horsehair; The good old heavy style of melodram, More like the individual I am. Yet the band love him. Well, it is but right To own he is the very deuce to fight, When he begins. No matter! we shall see Which they prefer to lead them--him or me! To sound them on the point, at once I go forth. [_Shaking his fist towards where CONRAD has gone off._ Tremble! Despair! Ha, ha! Revenge! and so forth! _Song._--BIRBANTO.--_Air, “Dusty Bob’s Hornpipe.”_