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- My mates, quoth he, whats to be done? Here's a scurvy world, and as scurvily we live in't, we feed here upon the water, on the Kings salt beef, without ere a pence to buy us a bissell [bushel of grain] when we come ashore. Revel, supp, and be merry, every one at the proper charge of his own purse. This night, when the Captain and Officers shall conjecture nothing but that we are drawing dry the pot, we'll be diving arm deep in the Fugitives bags. (en)
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