The same gentleman and Lord ----, at the Angel at Bury, fell in with
some excellent Claret. They had disposed of six bottles, when the
landlord, who did not guess or _gauge_ the _quality_ of his customers
(the bell being rung for a fresh supply,) begged very gently to hint
that it was expensive stuff, being fifteen shillings a bottle! "Oh! is
it so? then bring up two bottles directly!"
We have nothing, however, in modern times, at all equal to the account
given of some of the ancients. The elder Cato, we are told, warmed good
principles with a considerable quantity of good wine.[5] But Cicero's
son exceeds all others; so much so, that he got the name of _Bicongius_,
because he was accustomed to drink two congii[6] at a sitting. Pliny,
and others, abound in grand examples, that prove we have degenerated at
any rate in this respect, for these convivials were neither sick nor
sorry. Even that eminent debauchee, Nero, was only three times sick in
fourteen years. "Nam qui luxuriae immoderatissimae esset, ter omnino per
xiv. annos languit; atque ita, ut neque _vino_, neque consuetudine
_reliqua_ abstineret.
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