Why weavers, gardeners, and gladiators⁠—or a man with a pined leg (proceeding from some ailment in the foot)⁠—should ever have had some tender nymph breaking her heart in secret for them, are points well and duly settled and accounted for by ancient and modern physiologists.

A water-drinker, provided he is a profess’d one, and does it without fraud or covin, is precisely in the same predicament: not that, at first sight, there is any consequence, or show of logic in it, “That a rill of cold water dribbling through my inward parts, should light up a torch in my Jenny’s⁠—”

⸺⁠The proposition does not strike one; on the contrary, it seems to run opposite to the natural workings of causes and effects⁠⸺⁠

But it shows the weakness and imbecility of human reason.

⸺“And in perfect good health with it?”

—The most perfect,⁠—Madam, that friendship herself could wish me⁠⸺⁠

“And drink nothing!⁠—nothing but water?”

—Impetuous fluid! the moment thou pressest against the floodgates of the brain⁠⸺⁠see how they give way!⁠⸺⁠

In swims Curiosity, beckoning to her damsels to follow⁠—they dive into the centre of the current⁠⸺⁠

Fancy sits musing upon the bank, and with her eyes following the stream, turns straws and bulrushes into masts and bowsprits⁠⸺⁠And Desire, with vest held up to the knee in one hand, snatches at them, as they swim by her with the other⁠⸺⁠

O ye water-drinkers! is it then by this delusive fountain, that ye have so often governed and turn’d this world about like a mill-wheel⁠—grinding the faces of the impotent⁠—bepowdering their ribs⁠—bepeppering their noses, and changing sometimes even the very frame and face of nature⁠⸺⁠

If I was you, quoth Yorick, I would drink more water, Eugenius⁠—And, if I was you, Yorick, replied Eugenius, so would I.

Which shows they had both read Longinus⁠⸺⁠

For my own part, I am resolved never to read any book but my own, as long as I live.