"Clear it ov its coefficient, and we'll thry," says the Pope.
"Hand me over the exponent then," says his Riv'rence.
"What's that?" says the Pope.
"The shcrew, to be sure," says his Riv'rence.
"What for?" says the Pope.
"To dhraw the cork," says his Riv'rence.
"Sure, the cork's dhrew," says the Pope.
"But the sperets can't get out on account ov the accidents that's stuck in the neck ov the bottle," says his Riv'rence.
"Accident ought to be passable to sperit," says the Pope, "and that makes me suspect that the reality ov the cork's in it afther all."
"That's a barony-masia," says his Riv'rence, "and I'm not bound to answer it. But the fact is, that it's the accidents ov the sperits too that's in it, and the reality's passed out through the cortical spacies, as you say; for, you may have observed, we've both been in real good sperits ever since the cork was dhrawn, and where else would the real sperits come from if they wouldn't come out ov the bottle?"