Polyphemus, ogre, Gargantua, monster that you are! you disgust me." "And you," retorted the tyrant, "I know that you are hankering after something to drink.

Silenus, hogshead, wine-bottle, sponge that you are! you excite my pity." "How delightful it would be for us all if you both could have your wish," interposed Scapin, in a conciliatory tone.
"Look, yonder by the roadside is a little grove, capitally situated for a halting-place.

We might stop there for a little, ransack the chariot to find whatever fragments may yet remain in it of our last stock of provisions, and gathering them all up take our breakfast, such as it may be, comfortably sheltered from this cold north wind on the lee side of the thicket there.

The short halt will give the poor old horse a chance to rest, and we meantime, while we are breakfasting, can discuss at our leisure some expedients for supplying our immediate needs, and also talk over our future plans and prospects--which latter, it seems to me, look devilishly dark and discouraging." "Your words are golden, friend Scapin," the pedant said, "let us by all means gather up the crumbs that are left of former plenty, though they will be but few and musty, I fear.

There are still, however, two or three bottles of wine remaining--the last of a goodly store--enough for us each to have a glass.