Then hasten to be drunk, the business of the day.

. . . And when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance, Th' express resemblance of the gods, is chang'd Into some bruitish form of wolf or bear, Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, All other parts remaining as they were; And they, so perfect in their misery, Not once perceive their foul disfigurement.

(Olivia:) What's a drunken man like, fool? (Clown:) Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One draught above heat makes him a fool, the seconds mads him, and a third drowns him.

I told you, sir, they were redhot with drinking; So full of valor that they smote the air For breathing in their faces, beat the ground, For kissing of their feet; yet always bending Towards their project.

I will ask him for my place again: he shall tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblest, and the ingredient is a devil.