Rob. How should I know? As my confidential adviser, it's your duty to suggest something.
Adam. Sir, I loathe the life you are leading, but a good old man's oath is paramount, and I obey. Richard Dauntless is here with pretty Rose Maybud, to ask your consent to their marriage. Poison their beer.
Rob. No—not that—I know I'm a bad Bart, but I'm not as bad a Bart as all that.
Adam. Well, there you are, you see! It's no use my making suggestions if you don't adopt them.
Rob. [Melodramatically.] How would it be, do you think, were I to lure him here with cunning wile—bind him with good stout rope to yonder post—and then, by making hideous faces at him, curdle the heart-blood in his arteries, and freeze the very marrow in his bones? How say you, Adam, is not the scheme well planned?
Adam. It would be simply rude—nothing more. But soft—they come!
Adam and Robin retire up as Richard and Rose enter, preceded by Chorus of Bridesmaids
Duet—Richard and Rose
Rich.
Happily coupled are we,
You see—
I am a jolly Jack Tar,
My star,
And you are the fairest,
The richest and rarest
Of innocent lasses you are,
By far—
Of innocent lasses you are!
Fanned by a favouring gale,
You'll sail
Over life's treacherous sea
With me,
