The prince royal of Prussia came thither incognito.

[…] yet all his virtues, Not virtuously on his own part beheld, Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss, Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, Are like to rot untasted.

In his old department in Zürich, they sit in glass cases: models to the life of the peaks he had studied, with the strata painted beautifully and accurately, passing over arête and valley alike.

When the splitting wind Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks.