And thou shalt make a Mercieseat of pure gold: two cubites and a halfe shalbe the length thereof, and a cubite and a halfe the breadth thereof.

If e'er he went into excess, / 'Twas from a somewhat lively thirst; / But he who would his subjects bless, / Odd's fish!—must wet his whistle first; / And so from every cask they got, / Our king did to himself allot / At least a pot. / Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! / That's the kind of king for me.

[H]e growled, “were this France, or even Guienne, we should have a fresh haunch for our nonemeat."

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree?