Avast, ye Scurvy Dogs!
An' belook yerself at th' photos o' a shipwreckt trio o' a crew o' salty dogs, left high an' dry on th' Isle o' Wintar, what be bein' in Salem, Massachusetts.
First off, Jim be Captain Jack Sparrow. An' yar, he be a good one. He be sportin' a full bit o' cotton wares, savin' th' coat which be a fine thread but larrrrge-wove wool suiting. All he be waarrin' that be clothin', savin' his underlinens, be of my own makin': Th' shirt, th' waistcot, th' britches, an' th' captain's coat, yarr. I be proud.
As th' first mate, I be donnin' more bits o' my own needleworkin', a shirt, britches, waistcot, an' sash, which be havin' a fringed edge that be strung with wood beads. Th' chapo be a wool felt numbarr I bought at th' Tuxedo Park/Sterlin' Forest Faire on Labor Day Weekend. Th' scimitar be from th' Connecticut Faire from last year, an' I be usin' a frog o' th' Captains to be holdin' it to a leatharr belt I be pickin' up that mornin' from th' Marrrt o' Wally.
Yarr, it be th' first mate, th' Laydy Pyrate Anne, who be standin' by th' sea. That do be her trisail a float behind her. Mayhap that be wishful thinkin', howevarr.
A captain's chum is always th' wench, an' a fine one she be. Judy be wearin' tops that be not o' my makin, but th' skirt do be my work, an' worked sans a pattarn, just me own fair braine, yarrr. She be likin' it well.
Avast, thar, Captain! Be not accostin' th' wenches! But she seem to be not mindin'.
An' th' last flag to be sent up th' mast, but flutterin' topmost o'er th' mains'l, be this signal, an' it do be my favorite. A right boistrous crowd o' buccaneers we be, yarr! As a trio of salty soldiers o' fortune, we be ready to take on th' sweet sights an' sounds o' th' great town o' Salem!
First off, Jim be Captain Jack Sparrow. An' yar, he be a good one. He be sportin' a full bit o' cotton wares, savin' th' coat which be a fine thread but larrrrge-wove wool suiting. All he be waarrin' that be clothin', savin' his underlinens, be of my own makin': Th' shirt, th' waistcot, th' britches, an' th' captain's coat, yarr. I be proud.
As th' first mate, I be donnin' more bits o' my own needleworkin', a shirt, britches, waistcot, an' sash, which be havin' a fringed edge that be strung with wood beads. Th' chapo be a wool felt numbarr I bought at th' Tuxedo Park/Sterlin' Forest Faire on Labor Day Weekend. Th' scimitar be from th' Connecticut Faire from last year, an' I be usin' a frog o' th' Captains to be holdin' it to a leatharr belt I be pickin' up that mornin' from th' Marrrt o' Wally.
Yarr, it be th' first mate, th' Laydy Pyrate Anne, who be standin' by th' sea. That do be her trisail a float behind her. Mayhap that be wishful thinkin', howevarr.
A captain's chum is always th' wench, an' a fine one she be. Judy be wearin' tops that be not o' my makin, but th' skirt do be my work, an' worked sans a pattarn, just me own fair braine, yarrr. She be likin' it well.
Avast, thar, Captain! Be not accostin' th' wenches! But she seem to be not mindin'.
An' th' last flag to be sent up th' mast, but flutterin' topmost o'er th' mains'l, be this signal, an' it do be my favorite. A right boistrous crowd o' buccaneers we be, yarr! As a trio of salty soldiers o' fortune, we be ready to take on th' sweet sights an' sounds o' th' great town o' Salem!