Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/84

 (You'll observe, Bill, that rhyme's quite Parisian; a Londoner, sir, would have cited old Q.) These are moments that thrill the whole spirit with spasms that excite and exalt. I stood more than the peer of the great Casanova—you know—de Seingalt. She was worth, sir, I say it without hesitation, two brace of her sisters. Ah, why should all honey turn rhubarb—all cherries grow onions—all kisses leave blisters? Oh, and why should I ask myself questions? I've heard such before—once or twice. Ah, I can't understand it—but, O, I imagine it strikes me as nice. There's a deity shapes us our ends, sir, rough-hew them, my boy, how we will—