To whom the knight with comely grace Put off his hat to put his case. _Hudibras, Part 3. canto 3._ Here Britain’s statesmen oft the fall foredoom Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home; Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey, Does sometimes counsel take--and sometimes tea. _Rape of the Lock, canto 3. l. 5._ O’er their quietus where fat judges dose, And lull their cough and conscience to repose. _Dispensary, canto 1._ Speaking of Prince Eugene. “This General is a great taker of snuff as well as of towns.” _Pope, Key to the Lock._ Exul mentisque domusque. _Metamorphoses_, _lib._ ix. 409. A seeming inconsistency from the same cause. Hic quiescit qui nunquam quievit. Again, Quel âge a cette Iris, dont on fait tant de bruit? Me demandoit Cliton n’aguere. Il faut, dis-je, vous satisfaire, Elle a vingt ans le jour, et cinquante ans la nuit. Again, So like the chances are of love and war, That they alone in this distinguish’d are; In love the victors from the vanguish’d fly, They fly that wound, and they pursue that die. _Waller._ What new-found witchcraft was in thee, With thine own cold to kindle me? Strange art; like him that should devise To make a burning-glass of ice. _Cowley._ Wit of this kind is unsuitable in a serious poem; witness the following line in Pope’s Elegy to the memory of an unfortunate lady: Cold is that breast which warm’d the world before. This sort of writing is finely burlesqued by Swift: Her hands, the softest ever felt, Though cold would burn, though dry would melt. _Strephon and Chloe._ Taking a word in a different sense from what is meant, comes under wit, because it occasions some slight degree of surprise. _Beatrice._ I may sit in a corner, and cry _Heigh ho!_ for a husband. _Pedro._ Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. _Beatrice._ I would rather have one of your father’s getting: hath your Grace ne’er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. _Much ado about nothing, act 2. sc. 5._ _Falstaff._ My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about. _Pistol._ Two yards and more. _Falstaff._ No quips now, Pistol: indeed, I am in the waste two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about thrift. _Merry wives of Windsor, act 1. sc. 7._ _Lo. Sands._---- By your leave, sweet ladies, If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me: I had it from my father. _Anne Bullen._ Was he mad, Sir? _Sands._ O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too; But he would bite none---- _K. Henry_ VIII.