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Updated: June 25, 2025
"Borabolla," he added, turning round upon a domed old king at his left, "Was it not the god Xipho, who begged of my great-great- grandsire a draught of this same wine, saying he was about to beget a hero?" "Even so. And thy glorious Marzilla produced thrice valiant Ononna, who slew the giants of the reef." "Ha, ha, hear'st that, oh Taji?" And Donjalolo drained another cup.
A most curious and betasseled network encased it; and the royal lizard was jealously twisted about its neck, like a hand on a throat containing some invaluable secret. All Hail, Marzilla! King's Own Royal Particular! A vinous Percy! Dating back to the Conquest! Distilled of yore from purple berries growing in the purple valley of Ardair! Thrice hail.
But the imperial Marzilla was not for all; gods only could partake; the Kings and demigods of the isles; excluding left-handed descendants of sad rakes of immortals, in old times breaking heads and hearts in Mardi, bequeathing bars-sinister to many mortals, who now in vain might urge a claim to a cup-full of right regal Marzilla.
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