Let it be me; and trust me, Margaret, The meads environ'd with the silver streams, Whose battling pastures fatten all my flocks, Yielding forth fleeces stapled with such wool As Lemnster cannot yield more finer stuff, …

Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms / No more on me have pow’r, their force is null’d, / So much of Adders wiſdom I have learnt / To fence my ear againſt thy Sorceries.

these little combinings together, of friends, for objects in themselves extremely laudable, but which the law terms conspiracies

He raised his big hand to his squam hat. It lingered there and he removed the hat a little clumsily. She smiled again brightly. Merry Christmas! she cried. He smiled back, holding his squam hat in his hand, Merry Christmas to ye, Miss, he answered gravely and she departed.