{"id":"01KG8AKT5AQKX64H99FBQ2NVXH","cid":"bafkreiab7fqpgimfb6rjq4oqnee3mzuhluzkoll6wey6bhxxtdjnho5nna","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":11272,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":11195,"text":"middle he sat, like a sun;—all his jolly stews and ragouts revolving\r\naround him.”\r\n\r\n“Yea,” said Babbalanja, “a very round sun was Ludwig the Fat. No wonder\r\nhe’s down in the chronicles; several ells about the waist, and King of\r\ncups and Tokay. Truly, a famous king: three hundred-weight of lard,\r\nwith a diadem on top: lean brains and a fat doublet—a demijohn of a\r\ndemi-god!”\r\n\r\n“Is this to be longer borne?” cried Abrazza, starting up. “Quaff that\r\nsneer down, devil! on the instant! down with it, to the dregs! This\r\ncomes, my lord Media, of having a slow drinker at one’s board. Like an\r\niceberg, such a fellow frosts the whole atmosphere of a banquet, and is\r\nfelt a league off We must thrust him out. Guards!”\r\n\r\n“Back! touch him not, hounds!”—cried Media. “Your pardon, my lord, but\r\nwe’ll keep him to it; and melt him down in this good wine. Drink! I\r\ncommand it, drink, Babbalanja!”\r\n\r\n“And am I not drinking, my lord? Surely you would not that I should\r\nimbibe more than I can hold. The measure being full, all poured in\r\nafter that is but wasted. I am for being temperate in these things, my\r\ngood lord. And my one cup outlasts three of yours. Better to sip a\r\npint, than pour down a quart. All things in moderation are good;\r\nwhence, wine in moderation is good. But all things in excess are bad:\r\nwhence wine in excess is bad.”\r\n\r\n“Away with your logic and conic sections! Drink!—But no, no: I am too\r\nsevere. For of all meals a supper should be the most social and free.\r\nAnd going thereto we kings, my lord, should lay aside our scepters.— Do\r\nas you please Babbalanja.”\r\n\r\n“You are right, you are right, after all, my dear demi-god,” said\r\nAbrazza. “And to say truth, I seldom worry myself with the ways of\r\nthese mortals; for no thanks do we demi-gods get. We kings should be\r\never indifferent. Nothing like a cold heart; warm ones are ever\r\nchafing, and getting into trouble. I let my mortals here in this isle\r\ntake heed to themselves; only barring them out when they would thrust\r\nin their petitions. This very instant, my lord, my yeoman-guard is on\r\nduty without, to drive off intruders.—Hark!—what noise is that?—Ho, who\r\ncomes?”\r\n\r\nAt that instant, there burst into the hall, a crowd of spearmen, driven\r\nbefore a pale, ragged rout, that loudly invoked King Abrazza.\r\n\r\n“Pardon, my lord king, for thus forcing an entrance! But long in vain\r\nhave we knocked at thy gates! Our grievances are more than we can bear!\r\nGive ear to our spokesman, we beseech!”\r\n\r\nAnd from their tumultuous midst, they pushed forward a tall, grim,\r\npine-tree of a fellow, who loomed up out of the throng, like the Peak\r\nof Teneriffe among the Canaries in a storm.\r\n\r\n“Drive the knaves out! Ho, cowards, guards, turn about! charge upon\r\nthem! Away with your grievances! Drive them out, I say, drive them\r\nout!—High times, truly, my lord Media, when demi-gods are thus annoyed\r\nat their wine. Oh, who would reign over mortals!”\r\n\r\nSo at last, with much difficulty, the ragged rout were ejected; the\r\nPeak of Teneriffe going last, a pent storm on his brow; and muttering\r\nabout some black time that was corning.\r\n\r\nWhile the hoarse murmurs without still echoed through the hall, King\r\nAbrazza refilling his cup thus spoke:—“You were saying, my dear lord,\r\nthat of all meals a supper is the most social and free. Very true. And\r\nof all suppers those given by us bachelor demi-gods are the best. Are\r\nthey not?”\r\n\r\n“They are. For Benedict mortals must be home betimes: bachelor\r\ndemi-gods are never away.”\r\n\r\n“Ay, your Highnesses, bachelors are all the year round at home;” said\r\nMohi: “sitting out life in the chimney corner, cozy and warm as the\r\ndog, whilome turning the old-fashioned roasting jack.”\r\n\r\n“And to us bachelor demi-gods,” cried Media “our to-morrows are as long\r\nrows of fine punches, ranged on a board, and waiting the hand.”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJW038SPT30W81W3A9MBY","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKT5ADDFWVGB3S6E4690T","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKT5AQMVFBSJEGBM90GGX","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:16.554Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:28.680Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}