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; and to conclude, pine away in melancholy and sorrow, before thou
hast the fourth part of a dram of my juice to cheer up thy spirits.
SUM. Hale him away, he barketh like a wolf:
It is his drink, not he, that rails on us.
BAC. Nay soft, brother Summer, back with that fool. Here is a snuff in
the bottom of the jack, enough[95] to light a man to bed withal: we'll
leave no flocks behind us, whatsoever we do.
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