Neil Simpson: Very logically put, my lord. In vino salutas.
Sam Ogilvie: There’s no badger in the world like wine. It defies the dogs of care. The cravenous dogs of care.
Simpson: Cravenous is not good lexicon. It is no word.
Ogilvie: I’ll have you know, Mr. Simpson, it is my word. It means exactly what I mean.
Simpson: It is an abuse—
Baliol White: Let your lexicon go to sleep, dominie. We’ll have no precisians here. I said precisians. Does anyone dispute it?
Muir: Gentlemen, I give you a toast. We have with us this evening a genius of the most pre-eminent intoxication—inspiration. In my opinion he makes Homer look a ninny. I have not perused the works of that celebrated Greek, but I am convinced that he was a ninny. Mr. Burns is not a ninny, and I defy anyone to say that he is. Mr. Burns, if anyone says you are a ninny, he shall answer to me for it.
Ogilvie: Who suggested that Mr. Burns was a ninny?
Muir: I’m not suggesting that anyone suggested it. I merely assert that he is not. Mr. Burns, let me assure you of the confidence of the assembled company. Gentlemen, I give you the health of Mr. Robert Burns, and may his glass never be empty.
[They drink to the toast boisterously.]