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so he takes the wreathèd cup, drinks joyfully, and follows death, embracing him. “Das ist mein Tod, ich sehe keinen Knochen, Womit du ihn, gleich einem Zahnarzt, schmückst, Geschieht es heute noch, geschieht’s in wenig Wochen, Dass du, Gevatter Tod, nur meine Hände drückst? Ganz nach Bequemlichkeit! du bist mir zwar willkommen.”
"Vy, I thought you would bring it out to-day," replied he; "I brought it last time, you know." "Take a little of mine, sir," said a gentleman, presenting a leather-covered flask "real Thomson and Fearon, I assure you." "I wish someone would fetch an ocean of porter from the nearest public," said another. "Take a cigar, sir?" "No; I feel werry much obliged, but they always make me womit."
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