0852 [o'casey]

Joxer: God be with the young days when you were steppin' the deck of a manly ship, with the win' blowin' a hurricane through the masts, an' the only sound you'd hear was, "Port your helm!" an' the only answer, "Port it is, sir!"

Boyle: Them was days, Joxer, them was days. Nothin' was too hot or too heavy for me then. Sailin' from the Gulf o' Mexico to the Antanartic Ocean. I seen things, I seen things, Joxer, that no mortal man should speak about that knows his Catechism. Ofen, an' ofen, when I was fixed to the wheel with a marlin-spike, an' the win's blowin' fierce an' the waves lashin' an' lashin', till you'd think every minute was goin' to be your last, an' it blowed, an' blowed -- blew is the right word, Joxer, but blowed is what the sailors use...

Joxer: Aw, it's a darlin' word, a daarlin' word.

Boyle: An', as it blowed an' blowed, I ofen looked up at the sky an' assed meself the question -- what is the stars, what is the stars?

Coal_Vendor: Any blocks, coal-blocks; blocks, coal-blocks!

Joxer: Ah, that's the question, that's the question -- what is the stars?

Boyle: An' then, I'd have another look, an' I'd ass meself -- what is the moon?

Joxer: Ah, that's the question -- what is the moon, what is the moon?