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parched: this wine is excellent (drinking another bumper.) There is more beauty in these decorations than I was aware of; the effect, the taste is incomparable. (Drinks again.) It is truly exquisite.

Walt. The champaign you mean. Count? I should have guessed as much.

Vald. No, no; the decorations,—Is it champaign? Let me judge of its flavour more considerately (drinks again): upon honour it is fit for the table of a god. But our hostess is a divinity, and 'tis nectar we quaff at her board,—Wine! common earthly wine! I'll thrust any man thro' with my rapier that says it is but wine.

Bar. Keep your courage for a better cause, Count. Report says the enemy are near us, and you may soon have the honour to exert it in defence of your divinity.

Walt. Which will be a sacred war, you know, and will entitle you perhaps to the glory of martyrdom.

Vaid. The enemy?

Walt. Aye, report says they are near us.

Vald. Be it so: I shall be prepared for them (drinks again).

Dart. (aside to Walt.) By my faith, he will be prepared for them, for he'll fill himself mortal drunk, and frustrate our project entirely. (Aside to Page.) Go, boy, and bid them make haste: thou understandest me?

Page. (aside.) Trust me for that: the Philistines shall be upon him immediately.