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Dialogue following No. 2
Boatswain. Aye, Little Buttercup — and well called — for you're the rosiest, the roundest, and the reddest beauty in all Spithead.
Buttercup. Red, am I? and round — and rosy! Maybe, for I have dissembled well! But hark ye, my merry friend — hast ever thought that beneath a gay and frivolous exterior there may lurk a canker-worm which is slowly but surely eating its way into one's very heart?
Boatswain. No, my lass, I can't say I've ever thought that.
Dick. I have thought it often. (All recoil from him.)
Buttercup. Yes, you look like it! What's the matter with the man? Isn't he well?
Boatswain. Don't take no heed of him; that's only poor Dick Deadeye.
Dick. I say — it's a beast of a name, ain't it — Dick Deadeye?
Dick. I'm ugly too, ain't I?
Buttercup. You are certainly plain.
Dick. And I'm three-cornered too, ain't I?
Buttercup. You are rather triangular.
Dick. Ha! ha! That's it. I'm ugly, and they hate me for it; for you all hate me, don't you?
All. We do!
Boatswain. Well, Dick, we wouldn't go for to hurt any fellow-creature's feelings, but you can't expect a chap with such a name as Dick Deadeye to be a popular character — now can you?
Boatswain. It's asking too much, ain't it?
Dick. It is. From such a face and form as mine the noblest sentiments sound like the black utterances of a depraved imagination. It is human nature — I am resigned.
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