XLIII.

And without turning his facetious head, Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air, Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said, "Talking's dry work, I have no time to spare." A second hiccuped, "Our old Master's dead, You'd better ask our Mistress who's his heir." "Our Mistress!" quoth a third: "Our Mistress!--pooh!-- You mean our Master--not the old, but new."