Wine whets the wit, improves its native force…

We bear it calmly, though a ponderous woe, And still adore the hand that gives the blow.

I'd have a clear and competent estate, That I might live genteelly, but not great.

Heaven is not always angry when he strikes, But most chastises those whom most he likes.

We live and learn, but not the wiser grow.

Wot cher! all the neighbours cried, Who yer gonna meet, Bill, Have yer bought the street, Bill? Laugh! I thought I should've died, Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road.

What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble and so full of subtile flame As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And resolved to live a fool the rest