Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/78

 For that poem—and then for the julep. This really is damnable stuff! (Not the poem, of course.) Do you snivel, old friend? well, it's nasty enough, But I think I can stand it—I think so—ay, Bill, and I could were it worse. But I'll tell you a thing that I can't and I won't. 'Tis the old, old curse— The gall of the gold-fruited Eden, the lure of the angels that fell. 'Tis the core of the fruit snake-spotted in the hush of the shadows of hell, Where a lost man sits with his head drawn down, and a weight on his eyes. You know what I mean, Bill—the tender and delicate mother of lies,