Book III, Satire 6

WHen Gullion di'd (who knowes not Gullion?)
And his drie soule arriu'd at Acheron,
He faire besought the Feryman of hell,
That he might drinke to dead Pantagruel.
Charon was afraid least thirstie Gullion,
Would haue drunke drie the riuer Acheron.
Yet last consented for a little hyre,
And downe he dips his chops deepe in the myre,
And drinks, and drinks, and swallows in the streeme,
Vntill the shallow shores all naked seeme.
Yet still he drinkes, nor can the Botemans cries,
Nor crabbed oares, nor prayers make him rise.
So long he drinkes, till the blacke Carauell,
Stands still fast grauel'd on the mud of hell.
There stand they still, nor can go, nor retyre,
Tho greedie ghosts quicke passage did require.
Yet stand they still, as tho they lay at rode,
Till Gullion his bladder would vnlode.
They stand, and waite, and pray for that good houre:
Which when it came, they sailed to the shore.
But neuer since dareth the Feryman,
Once intertaine the ghost of Gullian.
Drinke on drie soule, and pledge sir Gullion:
Drinke to all healths, but drinke not to thine owne.