Part 92 (1/2)

Believe a woman, or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics.

Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms.

O Amos Cottle! Phoebus! what a name!

_Monody on the Death of Sheridan_.

When all of Genius which can perish dies.

Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

Who track the steps of Glory to the grave.

Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, And broke the die in moulding Sheridan.

_Don Juan_.

Canto i. St. 22.

But, O ye lords of ladies intellectual!

Inform us truly, have they not henpecked you all?

Canto i. St. 117.

Whispering I will ne'er consent, consented.

Canto xiii. St. 95.

Society is now one polished horde, Formed of two mighty tribes, the _Bores_ and _Bored_.

Canto xv. St. 13.