I'll swing the bow toward Heaven 'stead o' Hell an' keep her p'inted straight an' it won't cost ye a penny.
They's too much swearin' on this 'ere ship.

Can't nobody be a Christian with his guts a-b'ilin'.

His tongue'll break loose an' make his soul look like a waggin with a smashed wheel an' a bu'sted ex.

A cook could do more good here than a minister." "Can you cook ?" "You try me an' I'll agree to happy ye up so ye won't know yerself.
Yer meat won't be raw ner petrified an' there won't be no insecks in the biscuit." "He'll make a row." "I hope so.

Leave him to me.