When our perils are past, shall our gratitude sleep?

So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides The Derby dilly, carrying three INSIDES.

I called the New World into existence, to redress the balance of the Old.

But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send, Save me, oh, save me, from the candid friend!

Here's to the pilot that weathered the storm.

I can prove anything by statistics except the truth.

In matters of commerce the fault of the Dutch Is offering too little and asking too much. The French are with equal advantage content, So we clap on Dutch bottoms just twenty per cent.