The watery eye of Sir John Falstaff twinkled with exquisite delight as he filled himself a cup of sack and responded,
There's nothing extant, Sir Toby, but cant.
A plague of all cowards! Here, Bardolph, my Trigon!
You and I will repent,
And keep a lean Lent.
Presuming it long,
Let us first have a song,
And dismally troll
It over a bowl,
To honesty, manhood, good fellowship bygone.