— Won’t you try my lenitive electuary? It’s a sovereign julep compounded of many simples, and it’s damnably demulcent, my dear.
— But is it a mollifying or a gently stimulating febrifuge?
— For those in grip of fever, it’s a palliative sling, my dear — so saith Pliny.
— Will it restore my youthful ardour? And rejuvenate my alabaster pallor?
— Never known to fail, my dear.
— Does it alleviate the itch associated with Grant’s Palsy? Will it banish thoughts of demons?
— Just drink it, for fuck sake.