The works of Mr. Thomas Brown, serious and comical : in prose and verse, with his remains in four volumes compleat; vol. IIBrown, Thomas
General
The works of Mr. Thomas Brown, serious and comical : in prose and verse, with his remains in four volumes compleat; vol. II
Brown, Thomas
English wit and humor -- Early works to 1800; Erotic literature -- Early works to 1800; Latin literature -- Translations into English
Another duel I had since that, (for you must know challenges come thick
and threefold upon me, like actions upon a breaking shop-keeper) which I
hope for its singularity, will prove a little entertaining to you; I
happened lately to be invited to a gentleman’s chamber in _Grays-Inn_,
to drink part of a bowl of punch; accordingly I went, and was very
plentifully entertained among some other gentlemen of my acquaintance,
with a capacious vessel of this most noble _Diapente_, insomuch, that we
were all elevated above the use of our legs, as well as our reason. The
gentleman that gave us the entertainment, by the assistance of his man,
made a shift to get to bed about twelve at night, but the rest lay up
and down in the corners of the room, snoaring like so many gorg’d swine,
and battening in their own snivel, which tobacco had drain’d from their
moist entrails: I guarded the garrison of good liquor the very last man,
and maintain’d my post at the table like a true _English_ hero, till
between _Bacchus_ and _Morpheus_, like the rest of my companions, I was
lull’d into a lethargy, and falling forward in my chair upon the table,
my forehead happen’d to take the edge of the punch bowl, and turn’d it
clear over my head, that it served me for a night-cap, my nose being
drowned in the remains of the punch; every time I drew up my breath, up
went a spoonful, so that in a little time my nostrils were syring’d as
clean as a lady’s honour by noon, that has drank two quarts of _Epsom_
waters for her mornings draught: but after some time being almost
suffocated, nature finding itself oppress’d, gave me a jog, and wak’d me
out of this drunken slumber. I had not scratch’d my ears, and rubb’d my
eyes above three minutes, but awakes another; O lord! says he, that a
man should lead this wicked life, to be married but a fortnight and play
these tricks, my wife will think I am a whoring already, or plague
herself with some damn’d whimsy or other. By this time a third awakes,
starts up like a ghost out of a grave, crying, A little drink for the
Lord’s sake, for I am
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