I said to the happy and gentle man in front of me gaily, 
"Friend, why did you not partake in the toast?"
He said but a little shyly, with a big smile, 
"I have eaten too much, and perhaps,
guilty of a bit of vine-breath in the wild."
I thus laughed: "Poirot, do not make haste yet, there are things that taste better than meat or wine in the town. 
Apollon, to thy slender, burning eyebrow.
I offer this toast, My love. Come along to our bed."
I left Poirot back in the pub after having had a toast to both us health, with spring water, and I went along with my Love who is now a little Autumn breeze, to see the purple twilight atop the steeply inclined hills of Edinburgh.