A SOT

Has found out a way to renew not only his youth, but his childhood, by

being stewed, like old Aeson, in liquor; much better than the virtuoso's

way of making old dogs young again, for he is a child again at second

hand, never the worse for the wearing, but as purely fresh, simple, and

weak as he was at first. He has stupefied his senses by living in a

moist climate, according to the poet, _Boeotum in crasso jurares aëre

natum_. He measures his time by glasses of wine, as the ancients did by

water-glasses; and as Hermes Trismegistus is said to have kept the first

account of hours by the pissing of a beast dedicated to Serapis, he

revives that custom in his own practice, and observes it punctually in

passing his time. He is like a statue placed in a moist air; all the

lineaments of humanity are mouldered away, and there is nothing left of

him but a rude lump of the shape of a man, and no one part entire. He

has drowned himself in a butt of wine, as the Duke of Clarence was

served by his brother. He has washed down his soul and pissed it out,

and lives now only by the spirit of wine or brandy, or by an extract

drawn off his stomach. He has swallowed his humanity and drunk himself

into a beast, as if he had pledged Madam Circe and done her right. He is

drowned in a glass like a fly, beyond the cure of crumbs of bread or the

sunbeams. He is like a springtide; when he is drunk to his

high-water-mark he swells and looks big, runs against the stream, and

overflows everything that stands in his way; but when the drink within

him is at an ebb, he shrinks within his banks and falls so low and

shallow that cattle may pass over him. He governs all his actions by the

drink within him, as a Quaker does by the light within him; has a

different humour for every nick his drink rises to, like the degrees of

the weather-glass; and proceeds from ribaldry and bawdry to politics,

religion, and quarrelling, until it is at the top, and then it is the

dog-days with him; from whence he falls down again until his liquor is

at the bottom, and then he lies quiet and is frozen up.

Character Writings of the Seventeenth Century · 第 406 / 429 题