DAM. Aurunculeia! Now, by Olympus and all its sojourners, I will drive the foul falsehood down thy black and calumnious throat. Withered imp of iniquity, cunning scatterer of poison, lie there; I put my sword’s point to thy throat, and recommend to thee silence and thy last testament. SYR. Noble Damasippus! MARS. Sweet prince, have mercy! DAM. Mercy is not for him! He shall never smooth a chin or fabricate a lie again. Come hither, Cyane: take off thy scarlet slipper, girl, and beat him till he confesses. CYA. Good Damasippus, do not be thus moved by a slave! GET. Slave, quotha? I beg no mercy, I! Mercury forbid! I will speak out, and be gagged for no man. What now, master of the whip and wheel, do you dream that you are in the company of your cattle, where lash and blow are law? I do most cordially hate thee; and I tell thee, moreover, that if thou comest, braving it and bullying it with loud tongue and long rapier, I have here a stout flagon of Saguntum, which has made flaws in heads of stouter manufacture, and---- DAM. Why, thou foul-mouthed blasphemer of greatness! GET. Thou impotent imitator of buffoons! DAM. Thou idol of cobblers! GET. Thou scorn of nobility! MAR. SYR. CYA. In the name of the gods, Damasippus! Jove! there will be a goodly tumult! MESSENGER [_without._] What, Syrinx--Syrinx, I say! SYR. See now, if the Prætor be not here with a force! MESS. Syrinx, I say--is Damasippus here to-night? DAM. Well, fellow, who sends for Damasippus? MESS. Truly, one that must send and find. The Emperor. DAM. The Emperor! Hang ye, pestilent curs, give me my sandals. Quick!--and my cloak. So! am I steady, Syrinx? Thy venomous wine hath somewhat---- Adieu, Cyane; I will visit ye again ere long. A pest upon the Emperor! MY FIRST FLAME. Alderman Greenfat lives, from three to seven P.M., in joyous anticipation of the delights that hour will bring upon its wing. He tastes in fancy the never-cloying richness of the turtle, which if Jupiter had reigned now would have made Jupiter a candidate for civic honours; the invigorating flavour of the punch, which at once heightens the zest of the last and prepares the palate for the following dainty; the turbot, the venison, the champagne, the Burgundy--all are present to his imagination. Delicious! But seven o’clock arrives. What is the consummation? The meat is cold, or the wine is hot; the servants are awkward, or the next neighbour is a bore; repletion--indigestion--satiety--gout--the devil!