--I'll be even with 'em, quoth I, for I'll put the precise sum into a piece of paper, and hold it ready in my hand all the way: "Now I shall have nothing to do," said I (composing myself to rest), "but to drop this gently into the post-boy's hat, and not say a word." ----Then there wants two sous more to drink----or there is a twelve sous piece of _Louis_ XIV. which will not pass--or a livre and some odd liards to be brought over from the last stage, which Monsieur had forgot; which altercations (as a man cannot dispute very well asleep) rouse him: still is sweet sleep retrievable; and still might the flesh weigh down the spirit, and recover itself of these blows--but then, by heaven! you have paid but for a single post--whereas 'tis a post and a half; and this obliges you to pull out your book of post-roads, the print of which is so very small, it forces you to open your eyes, whether you will or no: Then Monsieur _le Cur_ offers you a pinch of snuff----or a poor soldier shews you his leg----or a shaveling his box----or the priestess of the cistern will water your wheels----they do not want it----but she swears by her _priesthood_ (throwing it back) that they do: ----then you have all these points to argue, or consider over in your mind; in doing of which, the rational powers get so thoroughly awakened----you may get 'em to sleep again as you can.

'I'll be even with 'em,' quoth I, 'for I'll put the precise sum into a piece of paper, and hold it ready in my hand all the way. Now I shall have nothing to do,' said I (composing myself to rest), 'but to drop this gently into the post-boy's hat, and not say a word.'
But then he wants two sous more to drink - or there is an old twelve sous piece which will not pass - or a livre to be brought over from the last stage, which Monsieur had forgot; still sweet sleep is retrievable; and still might the flesh recover from these blows - but then, by heaven! you have paid but for a single post-stage - whereas 'tis a stage and a half; and this obliges you to pull out your book of post-roads, the print of which is so very small, it forces you to open your eyes, whether you will or no.
Then Monsieur le Cur offers you a pinch of snuff - or a poor soldier shows you his leg - or a shaveling his box - or the priestess of the cistern will water your wheels, swearing they need it - and in all this, the mind gets so thoroughly awakened, you cannot get it asleep again.
