I casually let this information drop as our concierge drives us through the resort in a buggy, a frangipani flower tucked behind his ear. He promises to fix the bug problem and drops us off at the lobby.
Thus One / Jovial his Mate bespoke; O Friend, observe, / How gay with all th'Accoutrements of War / The Britons come, with Gold well fraught they come
We walk the gangplank together, locked arm in arm.
No, I will not—remain then an ignoramous! for I never should rest in peace by a bright fire, at your own fireside, or inhale the sweet scented blossoms in your bowery, till you attained to the knowledge of every rope attached to a ship—you monopolizer of hearts! every coil of your dark hair adds another link to your train of admirers!
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DiQt
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