SOMEONE SAID: Whether we are wanderers or landlubbers, it’s a matter of genetics.
… For she had a tongue with a tang
And would cry to a sailor “Go hang!”
She loved not the savor of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her wherever he did itch.
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang! …
–“The Tempest,”
Act 2, Scene 2
Our Willie hit it off perfectly as usual in a handful of words. The foulmouthed boatswain Stephano, lurching drunkenly all over the tiny stage to please the groundlings, summons up the irreconcilable worlds of the traveler and the landlubber.
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