Your Grace has been the pupil of mirthful folly too long; you must now assume manly policy, or be crushed like a butterfly on the bosom of the flower you are sporting on." "I think I know your cast of morals, Sir John: you are weary of merry folly--the churchmen call it vice--and long for a little serious crime.
A murder, now, or a massacre, would enhance the flavour of debauch, as the taste of the olive gives zest to wine.

But my worst acts are but merry malice: I have no relish for the bloody trade, and abhor to see or hear of its being acted even on the meanest caitiff.

Should I ever fill the throne, I suppose, like my father before me, I must drop my own name, and be dubbed Robert, in honour of the Bruce; well, an if it be so, every Scots lad shall have his flag on in one hand and the other around his lass's neck, and manhood shall be tried by kisses and bumpers, not by dirks and dourlachs; and they shall write on my grave, 'Here lies Robert, fourth of his name.

He won not battles like Robert the First.

He rose not from a count to a king like Robert the Second.
He founded not churches like Robert the Third, but was contented to live and die king of good fellows!' Of all my two centuries of ancestors, I would only emulate the fame of-- "Old King Coul, Who had a brown bowl." "My gracious lord," said Ramorny, "let me remind you that your joyous revels involve serious evils.