Volume Viii Part 5 (2/2)

hadst thou good store of grapes?

BAC. _Vinum quasi venenum_; Wine is poison to a sick body. A sick body is no sound body; _ergo_, wine is a pure thing, and is poison to all corruption. Try-lill! the hunters whoop to you. I'll stand to it: Alexander was a brave man, and yet an arrant drunkard.

WIN. Fie, drunken sot! forgett'st thou where thou art?

My lord asks thee what vintage thou hast made?

BAC. Our vintage was a vintage, for it did not work upon the advantage: it came in the vauntguard of Summer.

And winds and storms met it by the way, And made it cry, alas, and well-a-day!

SUM. That was not well; but all miscarried not?

BAC. Faith, shall I tell no lie? Because you are my countryman, and so forth; and a good fellow is a good fellow, though he have never a penny in his purse.[88] We had but even pot-luck--little to moisten our lips and no more. That same Sol is a pagan and a proselyte: he s.h.i.+ned so bright all summer, that he burnt more grapes than his beams were worth, were every beam as big as a weaver's beam. _A fabis abstinendum_; faith, he should have abstained, for what is flesh and blood without his liquor?

AUT. Thou want'st no liquor, nor no flesh and blood.

I pray thee, may I ask without offence, How many tuns of wine hast in thy paunch?

Methinks that [that is] built like a round church, Should yet have some of Julius Caesar's wine: I warrant 'twas not broached this hundred year.

BAC. Hear'st thou, dough-belly! because thou talk'st and talk'st, and dar'st not drink to me a black jack, wilt thou give me leave to broach this little kilderkin of my corpse against thy back? I know thou art but a micher,[89] and dar'st not stand me. _A vous, Monsieur Winter_, a frolic up-se-frieze:[90] cross, ho.' _super naculum_.[91]

[_Knocks the jack upon his thumb_.

WIN. Gramercy, Bacchus, as much as though I did. For this time thou must pardon me perforce.

BAC. What, give me the disgrace? go to, I say, I am no Pope to pardon any man. Ran, ran, tara: cold beer makes good blood. St George for England![92] Somewhat is better than nothing. Let me see, hast thou done me justice? why so: thou art a king, though there were no more kings in the cards but the knave. Summer, wilt thou have a demi-culverin, that shall cry _Husty-tusty_, and make thy cup fly fine meal in the element?

SUM. No, keep thy drink, I pray thee, to thyself.

BAC. This Pupilonian in the fool's coat shall have a cast of martins and a whiff. To the health of Captain Rinocerotry! Look to it; let him have weight and measure.

WILL SUM. What an a.s.s is this! I cannot drink so much, though I should burst.

BAC. Fool, do not refuse your moist sustenance: come, come, dog's head in the pot; do what you are born to.

WILL SUM. If you will needs make me a drunkard against my will, so it is; I'll try what burden my belly is of.

BAC. Crouch, crouch on your knees, fool, when you pledge G.o.d Bacchus.

[_Here_ WILL SUMMER _drinks, and they sing about him_, BACCHUS _begins_.

All. _Monsieur Mingo for quaffing did surpa.s.s In cup, in can, or gla.s.s_.

BAC. Ho, well shot, a toucher, a toucher!

_For quaffing Toy doth pa.s.s, In cup, in can, or gla.s.s_.[93]

All. _G.o.d Bacchus, do him right, And dub him knight_.

BAC. Rise up, Sir Robert Toss-pot.

[_Here he dubs_ WILL SUMMER _with the black jack_.

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