Each window like a pill'ry appears, With heads thrust thro' nail'd by the ears. - Samuel Butler

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.

A skilful leech is better far Than half an hundred men of war, So he appear'd; and by his skill, No less than dint of sword, cou'd kill.

I am not now in fortune's power:
He that is down can fall no lower.