We were all just walking Swissly around with our alpenstocks and leather rucksacks […]

Alone and gut-shot, Eddie staggers to a church, seeking sanctuary and salvation, but collapses on the steps.

Then no baleful wind shall blight Joyful vines, nor barren rust The corn; nor applebearing season Cruel smite the tender younglings.

For such a quatrain and couplet as the following it is scarcely hazardous to predict proverbiality:— They eat and drink and scheme and plod And go to church on Sunday; And many are afraid of God And more of Mrs. Grundy. . . . The Cockney met in Middlesex or Surrey Is often cold and always in a hurry.