The deformed transformed / by Ronald Ross.

  • Ross, Ronald, Sir, 1857-1932.
Date:
1890
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: The deformed transformed / by Ronald Ross. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by Royal College of Physicians, London. The original may be consulted at Royal College of Physicians, London.

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    Thunder and shout ye everlasting choirs, Ye cherubim new bathing your wild eyes Ever in the glory of your God, and make To tremble the vast planetary surge That beats about Him, I no more your foe. Better a man than an exiled god, And better I than either. Hear, oh stars, Not I your slave. Hr descends in five. ACT I,-ZOZIMO. SCENE I.—The eating-room of an old inn in a mountain pass. A door behind, to the kitchen, another to the porch; others on either side, to sleeping apartments. Hough tables and benches; hogsheads of beer and wine; hams hanging from the ceiling, dtc. Without, wind and stormy weather. Enter Pompilia, dragging in Capon with a pair of tongs by the nose, he having a pot of wine in each hand. Pomp.—You will do no work, will you ? you bulged barrel, you pipkin, but be drinking, drinking ! You will sit all day and digest more liquor than ten copper-nosed corporals, you suck-cellar, you fat-bodied angel. You will be for ever watering; feeding with wine this beacon bonfire nose of yours, which I will tweak off you, as it only lights you to drink—so, so. Cap.—Mercy. Pomp.—What! you are patient and don’t squeak ? There then. 0 Lord, that ever I, the beauty of my village, should have married this paunchy old wen, this rotund old cheese ! Oh you fat anguish, oh remorse, oh mountain-misery! [Weeping.] Cap.—Woman, I am a philosopher. Pomp.—Aye, give me excuses for drinking. Five minutes work in you will buy all your philosophy. Cap.—Though I be fat, I am wise. Pomp.—Will that help you to a pot of soup and a warm fire when the winter rages ? Cap.—Woman, I have read Aristotle. Pomp.—And that rhymes with pottle and bottle, and therefore you drink, drink, and take your beer for wisdom and your liquor for wit. Cap.—Peace ! This wine now in my left hand is acid, French, bitter as virtue, binding as sin, tart as death, and fit only for Englishmen : this in my right, Spanish, soft, sweet, tender, honey mingled with fire. See, thus I, being a philosopher, diink them and the contrarieties of