1713-1768.
Tristam Shandy.
Vol. ii. Chapter xii.
Go, poor devil, get thee gone; why should hurt thee? This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.
Vol. iii. Chapter ix.
Great wits jump.[27]
Vol. iii. Chapter xi.
Our armies swore terribly in Flanders, cried my uncle Toby—but nothing to this.
Vol. vi. Chapter viii.
And the recording angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word and blotted it out for ever.