Don't ye go tellin' me missus elsewise ye 'ear. I let it slip, ye see, that the Bay, why tis no more 'an a boatin' lake for young pike an' their prettee lasses. And nay 'er a worry 'er head a'more. Fore if I 'ear another scurvy word said, a cat o'nine thee shall feel upon ye back, an' spliced to t'mainsail for duration of passage, ye see. AHHAAAAA

Keep it down, lads. I told Maxine it'll be a smooth crossing.

