Note 31 — Chapter X · PATHOLOGY OF DRUNKENNESS.

“Falstaff. Thou art our admiral: thou bearest the lanthorn in the poop; but ’tis in the nose of thee: thou art the knight of the burning lamp.

“Bardolph. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

“Falstaff. No, I’ll be sworn! I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death’s head or a memento mori. I never see thy face but I think of hell-fire.”—“When thou rann’st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there’s no purchase in money. O! thou art a perpetual triumph—an everlasting bonfire light: thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with me in the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the Sack thou hast drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler’s in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire any time this two and thirty years—heaven reward me for it!”