[F]ree me from thoſe outward encumbrances of cares that over-whelme mee, and let this paraliticke quackſalver fill ten thouſand tunnes with ſcelerata ſinapis, ſhrewiſh ſnappiſh muſtard, as Plautus calls it, […]

Francis Urquhart: What a frightful little man. Where do they find them these days? Tim Stamper: God knows. If I had a dog like that, I'd shoot it. Francis Urquhart: Well, yes. Quite.

Holonym: ligature

A monstrous production, in any of whose trilogical spheres I should be very sorry for mine or me to hold a place, however exalted.