[[186]]

It is most true, stylus virum arguit,—our style bewrays us.[186:1]

Anatomy of Melancholy. Democritus to the Reader.

I had not time to lick it into form, as a bear doth her young ones.[186:2]

Anatomy of Melancholy. Democritus to the Reader.

As that great captain, Ziska, would have a drum made of his skin when he was dead, because he thought the very noise of it would put his enemies to flight.

Anatomy of Melancholy. Democritus to the Reader.

Like the watermen that row one way and look another.[186:3]

Anatomy of Melancholy. Democritus to the Reader.

Smile with an intent to do mischief, or cozen him whom he salutes.[186:4]