Rich wines and spices waste!
Like sturgeon, or like brawn, shall I
Drown'd in a precious pickle lie,
Which I can never taste!
"Let me embalm this flesh of mine
With turtle fat and Bourdeaux wine,
And spoil the Egyptian trade;
Than Humphrey's Duke, more happy I—
Embalm'd alive, old Quin shall die,
A mummy ready made."