My Lord, there stands in Court one Thomas Johnson, Apprentice to Mr. Pemmel; he can tell what time a-night it was I came to Mr. Humston’s, he let me in; I desire he may be call’d.

Let me wrap up this project before I begin a new one.

At this the tender sound of his own voice And sweet self-pity, or the fancy of it, Made his eye moist; but Enid fear'd his eyes, Moist as they were, wine-heated from the feast; […]

… We that are wisely mounted higher Than constables, in curule wit, When on tribunal bench we sit, Like speculators, should foresee, From Pharos of authority, Portended mischiefs farther than Low proletarian tything-men …