say. More wine.
(_Fills_.)

_1st Gent_. I entreat you, let there be some order, some method, in
our drinkings. I love to lose my reason with my eyes open, to commit
the deed of drunkenness with forethought and deliberation. I love to
feel the fumes of the liquor gathering here, like clouds.

_2nd Gent_. And I am for plunging into madness at once. Damn order,
and method, and steps, and degrees, that he speaks of. Let confusion
have her legitimate work.

_Lovel_. I marvel why the poets, who, of all men, methinks, should
possess the hottest livers, and most empyreal fancies, should affect
to see such virtues in cold water.

_Gray_. Virtue in cold water! ha! ha! ha!

_John_. Because your poet-born hath an internal wine, richer than
lippara or canaries, yet uncrushed from any grapes of earth,
unpressed in mortal wine-presses.

3_rd Gent_. What may be the name of this wine?

_John_. It hath as many names as qualities. It is denominated
indifferently, wit, conceit, invention, inspiration, but its most
royal and comprehensive name is _fancy_.

3_rd Gent_. And where keeps he this sovereign liquor?

_John_. Its cellars are in the brain, whence your true poet deriveth
intoxication at will; while his animal spirits, catching a pride from
the quality and neighborhood of their noble relative, the brain,
refuse to be sustained by wines and fermentations of earth.

3_rd Gent_. But is your poet-born always tipsy with this liquor?

_John_. He hath his stoopings and reposes; but his proper element is
the sky, and in the suburbs of the empyrean.

3_rd Gent_. Is your wine-intellectual so exquisite? henceforth, I, a
man of plain conceit, will, in all humility, content my mind with
canaries.

4_th Gent_. I am for a song or a catch. When will the catches come
on, the sweet wicked catches?

_John_. They cannot be introduced with propriety before midnight.
Every man must commit his twenty bumpers first. We are not yet well
roused. Frank Lovel, the glass stands with you.

_Lovel_. Gentlemen, the Duke. (_Fills_.)

_All_. The Duke. (_They drink_.)

_Gray_. Can any tell, why his Grace, being a Papist--

_John_. Pshaw! we will have no questions of state now. Is not this
his Majesty's birthday?

_Gray_. What follows?

_John_. That every man should sing, and be joyful, and ask no
questions.

2_nd Gent_. Damn politics, they spoil drinking.

3_rd Gent_. For certain, 'tis a blessed monarchy.

2_nd Gent_. The cursed fanatic