“Gabelle.”
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“Grub, ho!” now cried the landlord, flinging open a door, and in we went to breakfast.
“Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?”
“What is his name?” said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his hand.
However, a good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more’s the pity. So, if any one man, in his own proper person, afford stuff for a good joke to anybody, let him not be backward, but let him cheerfully allow himself to spend and be spent in that way. And the man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.
But various Iris, Jove’s commands to bear, Speeds on the wings of winds through liquid air; In Priam’s porch the Trojan chiefs she found, The old consulting, and the youths around. Polites’ shape, the monarch’s son, she chose, Who from Æsetes’ tomb observed the foes,[105] High on the mound; from whence in prospect lay The fields, the tents, the navy, and the bay. In this dissembled form, she hastes to bring The unwelcome message to the Phrygian king.
Yet, Monseigneur had slowly found that vulgar embarrassments crept into his affairs, both private and public; and he had, as to both classes of affairs, allied himself perforce with a Farmer-General. As to finances public, because Monseigneur could not make anything at all of them, and must consequently let them out to somebody who could; as to finances private, because Farmer-Generals were rich, and Monseigneur, after generations of great luxury and expense, was growing poor. Hence Monseigneur had taken his sister from a convent, while there was yet time to ward off the impending veil, the cheapest garment she could wear, and had bestowed her as a prize upon a very rich Farmer-General, poor in family. Which Farmer-General, carrying an appropriate cane with a golden apple on the top of it, was now among the company in the outer rooms, much prostrated before by mankind--always excepting superior mankind of the blood of Monseigneur, who, his own wife included, looked down upon him with the loftiest contempt.
“That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.”
Pride and Prejudice — Chapter 6: Chapter VI (part 1/2)
“Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.”
Monseigneur had one truly noble idea of general public business, which was, to let everything go on in its own way; of particular public business, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea that it must all go his way--tend to his own power and pocket. Of his pleasures, general and particular, Monseigneur had the other truly noble idea, that the world was made for them. The text of his order (altered from the original by only a pronoun, which is not much) ran: “The earth and the fulness thereof are mine, saith Monseigneur.”
Moby-Dick — Chapter 6: Breakfast
Now, like a deluge, covering all around, The shining armies sweep along the ground; Swift as a flood of fire, when storms arise, Floats the wild field, and blazes to the skies. Earth groan’d beneath them; as when angry Jove Hurls down the forky lightning from above, On Arimé when he the thunder throws, And fires Typhœus with redoubled blows, Where Typhon, press’d beneath the burning load, Still feels the fury of the avenging god.
“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” said Mrs. Bennet; “and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly.”
“That I will, and readily,” said Mr. Lorry, “if it is not dangerous.”
Monseigneur had been out at a little supper last night, where the Comedy and the Grand Opera were charmingly represented. Monseigneur was out at a little supper most nights, with fascinating company. So polite and so impressible was Monseigneur, that the Comedy and the Grand Opera had far more influence with him in the tiresome articles of state affairs and state secrets, than the needs of all France. A happy circumstance for France, as the like always is for all countries similarly favoured!--always was for England (by way of example), in the regretted days of the merry Stuart who sold it.
Seeing, now, that there were no curtains to the window, and that the street being very narrow, the house opposite commanded a plain view into the room, and observing more and more the indecorous figure that Queequeg made, staving about with little else but his hat and boots on; I begged him as well as I could, to accelerate his toilet somewhat, and particularly to get into his pantaloons as soon as possible. He complied, and then proceeded to wash himself. At that time in the morning any Christian would have washed his face; but Queequeg, to my amazement, contented himself with restricting his ablutions to his chest, arms, and hands. He then donned his waistcoat, and taking up a piece of hard soap on the wash-stand centre table, dipped it into water and commenced lathering his face. I was watching to see where he kept his razor, when lo and behold, he takes the harpoon from the bed corner, slips out the long wooden stock, unsheathes the head, whets it a little on his boot, and striding up to the bit of mirror against the wall, begins a vigorous scraping, or rather harpooning of his cheeks. Thinks I, Queequeg, this is using Rogers’s best cutlery with a vengeance. Afterwards I wondered the less at this operation when I came to know of what fine steel the head of a harpoon is made, and how exceedingly sharp the long straight edges are always kept.
Say next, O Muse! of all Achaia breeds, Who bravest fought, or rein’d the noblest steeds? Eumelus’ mares were foremost in the chase, As eagles fleet, and of Pheretian race; Bred where Pieria’s fruitful fountains flow, And train’d by him who bears the silver bow. Fierce in the fight their nostrils breathed a flame, Their height, their colour, and their age the same; O’er fields of death they whirl the rapid car, And break the ranks, and thunder through the war. Ajax in arms the first renown acquired, While stern Achilles in his wrath retired: (His was the strength that mortal might exceeds, And his the unrivall’d race of heavenly steeds:) But Thetis’ son now shines in arms no more; His troops, neglected on the sandy shore. In empty air their sportive javelins throw, Or whirl the disk, or bend an idle bow: Unstain’d with blood his cover’d chariots stand; The immortal coursers graze along the strand; But the brave chiefs the inglorious life deplored, And, wandering o’er the camp, required their lord.
Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the honour of knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty. The distinction had, perhaps, been felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business and to his residence in a small market town; and, quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge; where he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For, though elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody. By nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his presentation at St. James’s had made him courteous.
“I have delivered that letter,” said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry. “I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?”