1713-1768.
Tristam Shandy.
Vol. ii. Chapter xii.
Go, poor devil, get thee gone; why should hurt thee? This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.
Vol. iii. Chapter ix.
Great wits jump.[27]
Vol. iii. Chapter xi.
Our armies swore terribly in Flanders, cried my uncle Toby—but nothing to this.
Vol. vi. Chapter viii.
And the recording angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word and blotted it out for ever.
SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY.
Page 1.
"They order" said I, "this matter better in France."
In the Street. Calais.
I pity the man who can travel from Dan to
Beersheba, and cry, 'Tis all barren.
The Passport. The Hotel at Paris.
Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, Slavery, said I, still thou art a bitter draught.
Maria.
God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.[28]