You mayn't like it just now; but it's well worth the cost.

Your worries and miscarriages, dear Richard, will make you steady.' 'Steady!' echoed Devereux, like a man thinking of something far away.
'Ay, Dick--you've sown your wild oats.' On a sudden, says the captain, 'My dear little Puddock,' and he took him by the hand, with a sort of sarcastic flicker of a smile, and looked in his face almost contemptuously; but his eyes and his voice softened before the unconscious bonhomie of the true little gentleman.

'Puddock, Puddock, did it never strike you, my boy, that Hamlet never strives to speak a word of comfort to the forlorn old Dane?
He felt it would not do.

Every man that's worth a button knows his own case best; and I know the secrets of my own prison-house.

Sown my wild oats! To be sure I have, Puddock, my boy; and the new leaf I've turned over is just this; I've begun to reap them; and they'll grow, my boy, and grow as long as grass grows; and--Macbeth has his dagger, you know, and I've my sickle--the handle towards my hand, that you can't see; and in the sweat of my brow, I must cut down and garner my sheaves; and as I sowed, so must I reap, and grind, and bake, the black and bitter grist of my curse.