human
Lord God o' battles, close up Thine ear, hearken to and regard not the unseemly praying of this mail Martin that hath not the just point o' view, seeing through a glass darkly. Yonder lieth the enemy, Lord, Thine and mine, wherefore let 'em be rooted out and utterly destroyed; for if these be Portingales and Papishers--if--ha--if--? Resolution ceased his prayer and glancing up, pointed with stabbing finger:
gpt
Yon ship's no more Portingale than I am--look, friend, look!