[H]e took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her ladyship's desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater.

Poets like Cudgel'd Bullys, never do / At firſt, or ſecond blow, ſubmit to you; / But will provoke you ſtill and ne're have done, / Till you are weary ſirst, with laying on: […]

The sly old rascal might easily be deceiving his daughter for a second time with regard to his smugglesome traits.

I'll be in Yonkers, then I'm driving into town to see the Knicks at the Garden tonight.