k, 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 ass 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 God Bacchus.

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

All. _Monsieur Mingo for quaffing did surpass
In cup, in can, or glass_.

BAC. Ho, well shot, a toucher, a toucher!
_For quaffing Toy doth pass,
In cup, in can, or glass_.[93]

All. _God Bacchus, do him right,
And dub him knight_.

BAC. Rise up, Sir Robert Toss-pot.
[_Here he dubs_ WILL SUMMER _with the black jack_.

SUM. No more of this, I hate it to the death.
No such deformer of the soul and sense,
As is this swinish damn'd horn drunkenness.
Bacchus, for thou abusest so earth's fruits,
Imprison'd live in cellars and in vaults.
Let none commit their counsels unto thee;
Thy wrath be fatal to thy dearest friends;
Unarmed run upon thy foemen's swords;
Never fear any plague, before it fall:
Dropsies and watery tympanies haunt thee;
Thy lungs with surfeiting be putrified,
To cause thee have an odious stinking breath;
Slaver and drivel like a child at mouth;
Be poor and beggarly in thy old age;
Let thine own kinsmen laugh when thou complain'st,
And many tears gain nothing but blind scoffs.
This is the guerdon due to drunkenness:
Shame, sickness, misery follow excess.

BAC. Now on my honour, Sim Summer, thou art a bad member, a dunce, a
mongrel, to discredit so worshipful an art after this order. Thou hast
cursed me, and I will bless thee. Never cap of Nipitaty[94] in London
come near thy niggardly habitation! I beseech the gods of good
fellowship thou may'st fall into a consumption with drinking small beer!
Every day may'st thou eat fish, and let it stick in the midst of thy
maw, for want of a cup of wine to swim away in. Venison be _venenum_ to
thee: and may that vintner have the plague in his house that sells a
drop of claret to kill the poison of it! As many wounds may'st thou have
as Caesar had in the senate-house, and get no white wine to wash them
with;