Touching your cap to the Squire may be damn bad for the Squire, but it's damn good for you.

O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly the valley is jolly, ha! ha! -Elves of Rivendell

But you comfort me, Gimli, I'm glad to have you standing nigh with your stout legs and your hard axe. I wish there were more of your kin among us. But even more would I give for a hundred good archers of Mirkwood." - Legolas

And if Sam considered himself lucky, Frodo knew he was more lucky himself; for there was not a hobbit in the Shire that was looked after with such care.

Where iss it, where iss it: my Precious, my Precious? It's ours, it is, and we wants it.

Outside the ring of dancing warriors with spears and axes stood wolves at a respectful distance, watching and waiting.

We are being at once wisely aware of our own frivolity if we avoid hitting and whacking and prefer 'striking' and 'smiting'; talk and chat and prefer 'speech' and 'discourse'; well-bred, brilliant, or polite noblemen (visions of snobbery columns in the Press, and fat men on the Riviera) and prefer the 'worthy, brave and courteous men' of long ago.