(By the time I had given the information Papa, who had been proposing my health in a speech of which I caught little except an occasional Do I explain myself? had begun perorating towards a close and was about to crown his remarks with a brindisi in verse.)

Papa: Questa tavola—

Gildo (taking the words out of his mouth):

—oggi è assai più bella.
Enrico! Bevo alla salute di tua sorella. [60]

Aless:—which the devils will make on Wednesday evening by command of Argantino the—

Papa (beginning again):

Questa tavola non è sporca ma è netta.
Enrico! mangia, e non dare a loro retta. [61a]

Myself (obediently taking a pear. It was a fine pear with a maggot in it; they wanted me to take another but I knew that those with maggots are usually the best. Not seeing why I should not be a poet also, I put it thus):

Animale
Non fa male. [61b]

Gildo (instantly raising his glass):