You may think it your duty to get drunk;
But get yourself bronze claws before
You would be impudent.

When a mans drunk he'll kiss a horse or king,
He's so affectionate. Under your words
There is strong wine to make me drunk; you think,
The lines of all your face say, "Her father, Koelue's father."

This is too droll and extraordinary.
I dreamt I was a prince—a queer droll dream
Where a certain slave of mine, a thing, a toad,
Shifting his belly, showed a diamond
Where he had lain; and a blind dumb messenger
Bore syllabled messages soaked right through with glee:
I paid the toad, the blind man; afterwards
They spread a stench and snarling. O, droll dream!