I know the value of a kindly chorus, But choruses yield little consolation When we have pain and sorrow, too, before us! I love, and love, alas! above my station.
Which lets the cat out of the bag, at last! "He loves above his station!" Buttercup sighs, and pretty much the entire navy sighs. Those sailors are very sentimental chaps, very!--They are supposed to have a sweetheart in every port, though, to be sure, none of them are likely be above anybody's station. But their sighs are an encouragement to Ralph to tell all about his sweetheart, and he immediately does so. He sings rapturously of her appearance and of how unworthy he is. The crew nearly melts to tears during the recital. Just as Ralph has revealed that his love is Josephine, the Captain's daughter, and all the crew but Dick Deadeye are about to burst out weeping, the Captain puts in an appearance.
"My gallant crew,--good morning!" he says amiably, in that condescending manner quite to be expected of a Captain. He inquires nicely about the general health of the crew, and announces that he is in reasonable health himself. Then with the best intentions in the world, he begins to throw bouquets at himself:
You're very, very good, And be it understood, I command a right good crew,
Tho' related to a peer, I can hand, reef and steer, Or ship a selvagee; I'm never known to quail At the fury of a gale,-- And I'm never, never sick at sea!
But this is altogether too much. The crew haven't summered and wintered with this gallant Captain for nothing.
"What!--NEVER?" and there is no mistaking their emphasis.
"Oh, well--hardly ever!" he admits, trimming his statement a little: and thus harmony is restored. Now when he has thus agreeably said good morning to his crew, they leave him to meditate alone, and no one but Little Buttercup remains. For some reason she perceives that the Captain is sad. He doesn't look it, but the most comic moments in comic opera are likely enough to be the saddest. Hence Little Buttercup reminds him that she is a mother (she doesn't look it) and therefore to be confided in.
"If you must know, Little Buttercup, my daughter Josephine! the fairest flower that ever blossomed on ancestral timber"--which is very neat indeed--"has received an offer of marriage from Sir Joseph Porter. It is a great honour, Little Buttercup, but I am sorry to say my daughter doesn't seem to take kindly to it."