Tomkins, you’re dish’d! Your Jeune France locks are shorn.
A SCRAP FROM CERVANTES.
“Deliver me from the devil,” cried the Squire, “is it possible that a magistrate, or what d’ye call him, green as a fig, should appear no better than an ass in your worship’s eyes? By the Lord, I’ll give you leave to pluck off every hair of my beard if that be the case.”
“Then I tell thee,” said the master, “he is as certainly a he ass as I am Don Quixote and thou Sancho Panza, at least so he seems to me.”—Don Quixote.
A COINCIDENCE FROM BUTLER.
Shall hair that on a crown has place
Become the subject of a case?
The fundamental law of nature
Be over-ruled by those made after?