Men, my dear, are very queer animals, a mixture of horse- nervousness, ass-stubbornness, and camel-malice—with an angel bobbing about unexpectedly like the apple in the posset, and when they can do exactly as they please, they are very hard to drive.
Oh, England. Sick in head and sick in heart,
Sick in whole and every part,
And yet sicker thou art still
For thinking that thou art not ill.