No evil lost is wailed when it is gone.
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose to the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, and in the calmest and most stillest night, with all appliances and means to boot, deny it to a king?
And he goes through life, his mouth open, and his mind closed.
The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.
They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.