Pale was his face, he still look'd very ill:
He bow'd at Bellanaine, and said—" Poor Bell!
Farewell! farewell! and if forever! still
Forever fare thee well!"—and then he fell
A laughing!—snapp'd his fingers!—shame it is to tell!
LXIX.
"By'r Lady! he is gone!" cries Hum, "and I,—
(I own it,)—have made too free with his wine;
Old Crafticant will smoke me, by the bye!
This room is full of jewels as a mine,—
Dear valuable creatures, how ye shine!
Sometime to-day I must contrive a minute,
If Mercury propitiously incline,
To examine his scrutoire, and see what's in it,
For of superfluous diamonds I as well may thin it.
LXX.
"The Emperor's horrid bad; yes, that's my cue!"
Some histories say that this was Hum's last speech;
That, being fuddled, he went reeling through
The corridor, and scarce upright could reach
The stair-head; that being glutted as a leach,
And used, as we ourselves have just now said,
To manage stairs reversely, like a peach
Too ripe, he fell, being puzzled in his head
With liquor and the staircase: verdict—found stone dead.
LXXI.
This, as a falsehood, Crafticanto treats;
And as his style is of strange elegance,
