Bullf. You’re clear out, sir—clear out. Champaign is a fine liquor, which all great beaux drink to make ‘em witty.
Mock. Witty! Oh, by the universe, I must be witty! I’ll drink nothing else; I never was witty in my life. Here, Club, bring us a bottle of what d’ye call it—the witty liquor.
The widow having retired, Club, Mockmode’s servant, re-enters with a bottle and glasses.
Mock. Is that the witty liquor? Come, fill the glasses.... But where’s the wit now, Club? Have you found it?
Club. Egad, master, I think ‘tis a very good jest.
Mock. What?
Club. Why, drinking, you’ll find, master, that this same gentleman in the straw doublet, the same will o’ the wisp, is a wit at the bottom. Here, here, master, how it puns and quibbles in the glass!
Mock. By the universe, now I have it; the wit lies in the jingling. Hear how the glasses rhyme to one another.[186]
Evident allusion is here to the effervescence of champagne.
In his Constant Couple, we have:—