Look at them addlepate Puritans, smartly dressed in their Sunday sheets, looking down at me, a man of the sea and a free spirit of the waves! Blah! Tis 'nough swill to toss me grog polishing the poop deck twice o'er. And ye smell that? The brine at the edge o' the world? You savvy what that means? Naught but men and blade out 'ere to carve out our own fate with doubloons in our beds and a sail to take us where angels fear to go. Aye, matey, that's the life I lead. No letter of marque, nor the permission of bilge rats to toss back the spirits in me own bottle. Now smartly weigh anchor and I'll

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