Nor do I know what is become Of him, more than the Pope of Rome. - Samuel Butler

What makes all doctrines plain and clear?
About two hundred pounds a year.
And that which was prov'd true before
Prove false again? Two hundred more.

Who thought he 'd won
The field as certain as a gun.

We idly sit, like stupid blockheads, Our hands committed to our pockets, And nothing but our tongues at large, To get the wretches a discharge: Like men condemn'd to thunder-bolts, Who, ere the blow, become mere dolts; Or fools besotted with their crimes, That know not how to shift betimes, And neither have the hearts to stay, Nor wit enough to run away.