my lads, _do_ spring—slap-jacks and quahogs for supper, you know, my lads—baked clams and muffins—oh, _do_, _do_, spring,—he’s a hundred barreller—don’t lose him now—don’t oh, _don’t!_—see that Yarman—Oh, won’t ye pull for your duff, my lads—such a sog!