an exaggerated form of
duelling

Warm, is hardly the word--Winter's warm
on skates

Was I true? Not so very false, yet how
far from truth!

Was not one of the order whose Muse is
the Public Taste

Was born on a hired bed

Watch, and wait

We are, in short, a civilized people

We shall not be rich--nor poor

We could row and ride and fish and
shoot, and breed largely

We has long overshadowed "I"

We are good friends till we quarrel
again

We are chiefly led by hope

We have a system, not planned but grown

We can bear to fall; we cannot afford
to draw back

We can't hope to have what should be

We don't know we are in halves

We must fawn in society

We never see peace but in the features
of the dead

We live alone, and do not much feel it
till we are visited

We dare not be weak if we would

We do not see clearly when we are
trying to deceive

We women can read men by their power to
love

We were unarmed, and the spectacle was
distressing

We trust them or we crush them

We shall go together; we shall not have
to weep for one another

We make our taskmasters of those to
whom we have done a wrong

We cannot relinquish an idea that was
ours

We deprive all renegades of their
spiritual titles

We like well whatso we have done good
work for

We grew accustomed to periods of Irish
fever

We have come to think we have a claim
upon her gratitude

We must have some excuse, if we would
keep to life

We shall want a war to teach the
country the value of courage

We cannot, men or woman, control the
heart in sleep at night

We have now looked into the hazy
interior of their systems

We don't go together into a garden of
roses

We're treated like old-fashioned
ornaments!

We're all of us hit at last, and
generally by our own weapon

We're a peaceful people, but 'ware who
touches us

We're smitten to-day in our hearts and
our pockets

We've all a parlous lot too much pulpit
in us

Weak stomach is certainly more carnally
virtuous than a full one

Weak reeds who are easily vanquished
and never overcome

Weak souls are much moved by having the
pathos on their side

Weather and women have some resemblance
they say

Weighty little word--woman's native
watchdog and guardian (No!)

Welcomed and lured on an adversary to
wild outhitting

Well, sir, we must sell our opium

Welsh blood is queer blood

Went into endless invalid's laughter

Were I