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'Nunc vino pellite curas, Cras ingens iterabimus aequor," and the Bacchanalian, quoting the above with a House of Commons air, tossed off nearly a thimbleful of wine with an immense flourish of his glass. At the Rectory, when the bottle of port wine was opened after dinner, the young ladies had each a glass from a bottle of currant wine. Mrs.

Knave, give me my due, I like a tart as well as you; But I would starve on good roast beef, Ere I would look so like a thief. The Queen of Hearts. Nune vino pellite curas; Cras ingens iterabimus aequor. Horace. The next morning I received a note from Guloseton, asking me to dine with him at eight, to meet his chevreuil.

Knave, give me my due, I like a tart as well as you; But I would starve on good roast beef, Ere I would look so like a thief. The Queen of Hearts. Nune vino pellite curas; Cras ingens iterabimus aequor. Horace. The next morning I received a note from Guloseton, asking me to dine with him at eight, to meet his chevreuil.

Hurray! claret goes for nothing. My uncle was telling me that he saw Sheridan drink five bottles at Brookes's, besides a bottle of Maraschino. This is some of the finest wine in England, he says. So it is, by Jove. There's nothing like it. Nunc vino pellite curas cras ingens iterabimus aeq, fill your glass, Old Smirke, a hogshead of it won't do you any harm." And Mr.