Let us sing, let us drink, and tune up our roundelays.

Where is my funnel?
What, it seems I do not drink but by an attorney?
Do you wet yourselves to dry, or do you dry to wet you?
Pish, I understand not the rhetoric (theoric, I should say), but I help myself somewhat by the practice.

Baste! enough! I sup, I wet, I humect, I moisten my gullet, I drink, and all for fear of dying.

Drink always and you shall never die.
If I drink not, I am a-ground, dry, gravelled and spent.

I am stark dead without drink, and my soul ready to fly into some marsh amongst frogs; the soul never dwells in a dry place, drouth kills it.