The Throne We Honour Is

Nay, But Jack, Such Eyes! Such Eyes! So Innocently Wild! So Bashfully Irresolute! Not A Glance But Speaks And Kindles Some Thought Of Love! Then, Jack, Her Cheeks! Her Cheeks, Jack! So Deeply Blushing At The Insinuations Of Her Tell-tale Eyes! Then, Jack, Her Lips! O, Jack, Lips Smiling At Their Own Discretion! And, If Not Smiling, More Sweetly Pouting - More Lovely In Sullenness! Then, Jack, Her Neck! O, Jack, Jack!

A Practitioner In Panegyric, Or, To Speak More Plainly, A Professor Of The Art Of Puffing.

Humanity Is Composed But Of Two Categories, The Invalids And The Nurses

She's As Headstrong As An Allegory On The Banks Of The Nile.

O Lord, Sir - When A Heroine Goes Mad She Always Goes Into White Satin.