We must have some excuse, if we would keep to life We like well whatso we have done good work for We could row and ride and fish and shoot, and breed largely We dare not be weak if we would We cannot, men or woman, control the heart in sleep at night We can't hope to have what should be We have a system, not planned but grown We are chiefly led by hope We never see peace but in the features of the dead We live alone, and do not much feel it till we are visited We do not see clearly when we are trying to deceive We deprive all renegades of their spiritual titles We have now looked into the hazy interior of their systems We are, in short, a civilized people We can bear to fall; we cannot afford to draw back We make our taskmasters of those to whom we have done a wrong We must fawn in society We shall go together; we shall not have to weep for one another We shall not be rich--nor poor We don't know we are in halves We're all of us hit at last, and generally by our own weapon We're smitten to-day in our hearts and our pockets We're a peaceful people, but 'ware who touches us We're treated like old-fashioned ornaments! We've all a parlous lot too much pulpit in us Weak stomach is certainly more carnally virtuous than a full one Weak souls are much moved by having the pathos on their side Weak reeds who are easily vanquished and never overcome Weather and women have some resemblance they say Weighty little word--woman's native watchdog and guardian (No!) Welcomed and lured on an adversary to wild outhitting Well, sir, we must sell our opium Welsh blood is queer blood Went into endless invalid's laughter Were I chained, For liberty I would sell liberty What will be thought of me? not a small matter to any of us What a man hates in adversity is to see 'faces' What else is so consolatory to a ruined man? What a stock of axioms young people have handy What the world says, is what the wind says What was this tale of Emilia, that grew more and more perplexing What he did, she took among other inevitable matters What a woman thinks of women, is the test of her nature What ninnies call Nature in books What might have been What's an eccentric? a child grown grey! When we see our veterans tottering to their fall When he's a Christian instead of a Churchman When you run away, you don't live to fight another day When Love is hurt, it is self-love that requires the opiate When to loquacious fools with patience rare I listen When testy old gentlemen could commit slaughter with ecstasy When we despair or discolour things, it is our senses in revolt When you have done laughing with her, you can laugh at her When duelling flourished on our land, frail women powerful Where one won't and can't, poor t' other must Where fools are the fathers of every miracle Where love exists there is goodness Where she appears, the first person falls to second rank Where heart weds mind, or nature joins intellect Whimpering fits you said we enjoy and must have in books