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To me, Emily Merton seemed a marvel in the way of attainments; and I often felt ashamed of myself, as I sat at her side, listening to the natural and easy manner in which she alluded to things, of which I then heard for the first time. "Boatswain!" "Here, master: what cheer?" "Good: speak to the mariners; fall to 't Yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir." Tempest.
BOATSWAIN. Here, master; what cheer? MASTER. Good, speak to the mariners: fall to 't, yarely, or we run ourselves to ground; bestir, bestir! BOATSWAIN. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle.... Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try wi' the main course.... Lay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses.
Notwithstanding all these vexatious delays, and customary incumbrances, the "Royal Caroline" finally got rid of all her visitors but one, and Wilder was enabled to indulge in a pleasure that a seaman alone can appreciate that clear decks and an orderly ship's company. "Good: Speak to the mariners: Fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground." Tempest.
The two principal persons among our enemies appeared to be a man of a tall thin figure, with a high-crowned hat and long neckband, and short-cropped head of hair, accompanied by a bluff, open-looking elderly man in a naval uniform. "Yarely! yarely! pull away, my hearts," said the latter, and the boat bearing the unlucky young man soon carried him on board the frigate.
At the helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs.
Almost he vaulted the stile between the field and the canal bank. Alighting, he hailed the boat in nautical language "Ahoy, Smiles! What cheer, my hearty?" "Gettin' along nicely, sir," reported Mr. Bossom. "Nicely, but peckish. The same to you, I 'ope." "Good," was the answer. "Speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground. Bestir, bestir!"
"Into the wherries, every one!" cried the old precentor. "Ad unum omnes, great and small!" "Into the wherries!" echoed the under-masters. "Into the wherries, my bullies!" roared old Brueton the boatman, fending off with a rusty hook as red as his bristling beard. "Into the wherries, yarely all, and we's catch the turn o' the tide! 'Tis gone high water now!"
Here, master; what cheer? Master. Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves to ground; bestir, bestir! Boatswain. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle . . . Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try wi' the main course . . . Lay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses.
Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, And made their bends adornings: at the helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs.
The two principal persons among our enemies appeared to be a man of a tall thin figure, with a high-crowned hat and long neckband, and short-cropped head of hair, accompanied by a bluff, open-looking elderly man in a naval uniform. "Yarely! yarely! pull away, my hearts," said the latter, and the boat bearing the unlucky young man soon carried him on board the frigate.
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