Curse you, you wandering gemmule, / And nail you fast in Hell! / You gave me gout and bandy legs, / You beast, you wanted a cell! / Gout, and gravel, and evil days— / (Theology speaks, shaking her head) / But there is One who knows your ways!

The barman glanced around in search of uncollected glasses.

They evidently intended some mischief.

Mungo begins to feel dizzy – almost as if he'd drunk too much claret or gill-ale.