The fruit which does ſo quickly waſte, // Men ſcarce can ſee it, much leſs taſte, // Thou comfiteſt in ſweets to make it laſt.

The doom of Fate was, Be thou a Dandy! Have thy eye-glasses, opera-glasses, thy Long-Acre cabs with white-breeched tiger, thy yawning impassivities, pococurantisms; fix thyself in Dandyhood, undeliverable; it is thy doom.

Another way to limit the use of thirsty plants […] Here small beds of flowers, azaleas, and other thirsties could be grown satisfactorily.

“No!” returned the spy. “I throw up. I confess that we were so unpopular with the outrageous mob, that I only got away from England at the risk of being ducked to death […]