Count Barfula

The trouble with the old country is that nobody there ever taught moderation. You took the village or you took nothing, you did it standing up, and you did not pause to consider the constitution of a man four hundred years dead who has not had a solid meal since the reign of somebody-or-other. He knew at the second one. He knew and he carried on regardless, because his father carried on, and his father's father, and not one of them ever once admitted to having a stomach. The battlements are in a state. The moon is watching. And he would like it entered into the record that he feels wonderful.