THE WHITE WHALE 157 
tashtego ( quietly smoking). 
That’s a white man ; he calls that fun : humph ! I save my sweat. 
OLD MANX SAILOR 
I wonder whether those jolly lads bethink them of what they are 
dancing over. I’ll dance over your grave, I will — that’s the bitterest 
threat of your night-women, that beats head-winds round corners. O 
Christ ! to think of the green navies and the green-skulled crews! Well, 
well ; belike the whole world’s a ball, as you scholars have it ; and so 
’tis right to make one ballroom of it. Dance on, lads, you’re young; 
I was once. 
THIRD NANTUCKET SAILOR 
Spell oh ! — whew ! this is worse than pulling after whales in a calm 
— give us a whiff, Tash. 
( They cease dancing , and gather in clusters . Meantime the sky 
darkens — the wind rises.) 
LASCAR SAILOR 
By Brahma ! boys, it’ll be douse sail soon. The sky-born, high-tide 
Ganges turned to wind ! Thou showest thy black brow, Seeva ! 
Maltese sailor ( reclining and shaking his cap) 
It’s the waves — the snow’s caps turn to jig it now. They’ll shake 
their tassels soon. Now would all the waves were women, then I’d 
go drown, and chassee with them evermore! There’s naught so sweet 
on earth — heaven may not match it ! — as those swift glances of warm, 
wild bosoms in the dance, when the over-arbouring arms hide such ripe, 
bursting grapes. 
Sicilian sailor X reclining ) 
Tell me not of it! Hark ye, lad — fleet interlacings of the limbs — 
lithe swayings — coyings — flutterings! lip! heart! hip! all graze: un- 
