He had no sooner mounted than the facetious curate, coming into the kitchen, held forth in this manner: "There the old rascal goes, and the d--l go with him.

You see how the world wags, gentlemen.

By gad, this rogue of a vicar does not deserve to live; and yet he has two livings worth four hundred pounds per annum, while poor I am fain to do all his drudgery, and ride twenty miles every Sunday to preach--for what?
why, truly, for twenty pounds a year.

I scorn to boast of my own qualifications but--comparisons are odious.

I should be glad to know how this wag-bellied doctor deserves to be more at ease than me.