dwells in a dry place, drouth kills it.  O you butlers, creators of new forms, make me of no drinker a drinker, a perennity and everlastingness of sprinkling and bedewing me through these my parched and sinewy bowels.  He drinks in vain that feels not the pleasure of it.  This entereth into my veins,—­the pissing tools and urinal vessels shall have nothing of it.  I would willingly wash the tripes of the calf which I apparelled this morning.  I have pretty well now ballasted my stomach and stuffed my paunch.  If the papers of my bonds and bills could drink as well as I do, my creditors would not want for wine when they come to see me, or when they are to make any formal exhibition of their rights to what of me they can demand.  This hand of yours spoils your nose.  O how many other such will enter here before this go out!  What, drink so shallow?  It is enough to break both girds and petrel.  This is called a cup of dissimulation, or flagonal hypocrisy.

What difference is there between a bottle and a flagon.  Great difference; for the bottle is stopped and shut up with a stopple, but the flagon with a vice (La bouteille est fermee a bouchon, et le flaccon a vis.).  Bravely and well played upon the words!  Our fathers drank lustily, and emptied their cans.  Well cacked, well sung!  Come, let us drink:  will you send nothing to the river?  Here is one going to wash the tripes.  I drink no more than a sponge.  I drink like a Templar knight.  And I, tanquam sponsus.  And I, sicut terra sine aqua.  Give me a synonymon for a gammon of bacon.  It is the compulsory of drinkers:  it is a pulley.  By a pulley-rope wine is let down into a cellar, and by a gammon into the stomach.  Hey! now, boys, hither, some drink, some drink.  There is no trouble in it.  Respice personam, pone pro duos, bus non est in usu.  If I could get up as well as I can swallow down, I had been long ere now very high in the air.

Thus became Tom Tosspot rich,—­thus went in the tailor’s stitch.  Thus did Bacchus conquer th’ Inde—­thus Philosophy, Melinde.  A little rain allays a great deal of wind:  long tippling breaks the thunder.  But if there came such liquor from my ballock, would you not willingly thereafter suck the udder whence it issued?  Here, page, fill!  I prithee, forget me not when it comes to my turn, and I will enter the election I have made of thee into the very register of my heart.  Sup, Guillot, and spare not, there is somewhat in the pot.  I appeal from thirst, and disclaim its jurisdiction.  Page, sue out my appeal in form.  This remnant in the bottom of the glass must follow its leader.  I was wont heretofore to drink out all, but now I leave nothing.  Let us not make too much haste; it is requisite we carry all along with us.  Heyday, here are tripes fit for our sport, and, in earnest, excellent godebillios of the dun ox (you know) with the black streak.  O, for God’s sake, let us lash them soundly, yet thriftily.  Drink,