Chapter 79

Babbalanja At The Full Of The Moon

"Ho, mortals! Go we to a funeral, that our paddles seem thus muffled?
Up heart, Taji! or does that witch Hautia haunt thee? Be a demi-god
once more, and laugh. Her flowers are not barbs; and the avengers'
arrows are too blunt to slay. Babbalanja! Mohi! Yoomy! up heart! up
heart!--By Oro! I will debark the whole company on the next land we
meet. No tears for me. Ha, ha! let us laugh. Ho, Vee-Vee! awake;
quick, boy,--some wine! and let us make glad, beneath the glad moon.
Look! it is stealing forth from its clouds. Perdition to Hautia! Long
lives, and merry ones to ourselves! Taji, my charming fellow, here's
to you:--May your heart be a stone! Ha, ha!--will nobody join me? My
laugh is lonely as his who laughed in his tomb. Come, laugh; will no
one quaff wine, I say? See! the round moon is abroad."

"Say you so, my lord? then for one, I am with you;" cried Babbalanja.
"Fill me a brimmer. Ah! but this wine leaps through me like a panther.
Ay, let us laugh: let us roar: let us yell! What, if I was sad but
just now? Life is an April day, that both laughs and weeps in a
breath. But whoso is wise, laughs when he can. Men fly from a groan;
but run to a laugh. Vee-Vee! your gourd. My lord, let me help you. Ah,
how it sparkles! Cups, cups, Vee-Vee, more cups! Here, Taji, take
that: Mohi, take that: Yoomy, take that. And now let us drown away
grief. Ha! ha! the house of mourning, is deserted, though of old good
cheer kept the funeral guests; and so keep I mine; here I sit
by my dead, and replenish your wine cups. Old Mohi, your cup: Yoomy,
yours: ha! ha! let us laugh, let us scream! Weeds are put off at a
fair; no heart bursts but in secret; it is good to laugh, though the
laugh be hollow; and wise to make merry, now and for aye. Laugh, and
make friends: weep, and they go. Women sob, and are rid of their
grief: men laugh, and retain it. There is laughter in heaven, and
laughter in hell. And a deep thought whose language is laughter.
Though wisdom be wedded to woe, though the way thereto is by tears,
yet all ends in a shout. But wisdom wears no weeds; woe is more merry
than mirth; 'tis a shallow grief that is sad. Ha! ha! how demoniacs
shout; how all skeletons grin; we all die with a rattle. Laugh! laugh!
Are the cherubim grave? Humor, thy laugh is divine; whence, mirth-
making idiots have been revered; and therefore may I. Ho! let us be
gay, if it be only for an hour, and Death hand us the goblet. Vee-Vee!
bring on your gourds! Let us pledge each other in bumpers!--let us
laugh, laugh, laugh it out to the last. All sages have laughed,--let
us; Bardianna laughed, let us; Demorkriti laughed,--let us: Amoree
laughed,--let us; Rabeelee roared,--let us; the