If they have such great throats, they can swallow you at a gape.

If they are gregarious, while you shoot one, forty will run upon you like mad buffaloes, and trample you to death.

Arrows bound back from their thick hide; and as for gunpowder, they use it regularly for pinches of snuff.
After a shower of bullets has struck their side, they lift their hind foot to scratch the place, supposing a black fly has been biting.

Henry the Eighth, in a hawking party, on foot, attempted to leap a ditch in Hertfordshire, and with his immense avoirdupois weight went splashing into the mud and slime, and was hauled out by his footman half dead.

And that is the fate of men who spend their time hunting for lies.