Within thine owne bud burieſt thy content, / And tender chorle makſt waſt in niggarding: […]

[…] such opportunities of gallantizing their wives, as the French and other novelists, I mean novel-writers, would insinuate.

For all this Magical Mansion were vain With all its dominions so fair; Its splendor and riches no happiness gain Without a Titania to share!

Yes sair, returned the Frenchman, whose prominent eyes were watching the precarious footsteps of the beast he rode, as it picked its dangerous way among the roots of trees, holes, log bridges, and sloughs that formed the aggregate of the highway.