[T]each thy Incubus to Poëtize, / And throvve abroad thy ſpurious Snotteries, / Vpon that puft-up Lumpe of Barmy froth, / […] / Or Clumſy Chil-blain'd Iudgement; that, vvith Oath, / Magnificates his Merit; and beſpaules / The conſcious Time, vvith humorous Fome; & bravvles, / As if his Organons of Senſe vvould crack / The ſinevves of my Patience.

Heaven pity you with such a thrashingfloor for world, and its draggled dirty farthing-candle for sun!

[…] Harry, perceiving his Instructor a little overpoised, suddenly gave him an inside Foot, and a Push at the same Instant toward the Part to which he inclined.

[…] she pushed me inside a shop that sold oddments and seconds.