Excepting the ladies of our own party (three), I saw no more of ladykind or womankind till I came to Petersburg.

The Earl of Northumberland 'was the proudest man alive' and 'was in all his deportment a very great man.

When Gullion di'd (who knows not Gullion?) / And his drie soule arriu'd at Acheron, / He faire besought the feryman of hell, / That he might drink to dead Pantagruel. / […] Yet still he drinkes, nor can the Botemans cries, / Nor crabbed oares, nor prayers make him rise. / So long he drinkes, till the black Carauell / Stands still fast grauel'd on the mud of hell.

false scorpion (an arachnid)