Consider that the person asking is Mr. Bean, the diminutive, awkward, gravitationally challenged, accident-prone incarnation served up by Rowan Atkinson.

He then lays certain silver money on the table, finds his hat, gropes his way down the broken stairs, gives a good morning to some rat-ridden doorkeeper, in bed in a black hutch beneath the stairs, and passes out.

the Advance of Science by discrediting empty and talkative notionality

Then from the Joynts of thy prolifick Stemm A swelling Knot is raised (call’d a Gemm)