n shade, doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again.
1744
SHAKS.: _Venus and A.,_ Line 1033.

=Snake.=

We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it;
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
1745
SHAKS.: _Macbeth,_ Act iii., Sc. 2.

=Snow.=

Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
1746
SHAKS.: _Richard II.,_ Act i., Sc. 3

A cheer for the snow--the drifting snow;
Smoother and purer than Beauty's brow;
The creature of thought scarce likes to tread
On the delicate carpet so richly spread.
1747
ELIZA COOK: _Snow._

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven.
1748
EMERSON: _The Snow-Storm._

=Snow-Drop.=

The snow-drop, who, in habit white and plain,
Comes on, the herald of fair Flora's train.
1749
CHURCHILL: _Gotham,_ Bk. i., Line 245.

=Snuff.=

When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet and only took snuff.
1750
GOLDSMITH: _Retaliation,_ Line 145.

Lady, accept the gift a hero wore
In spite of all this elegiac stuff;
Let not seven stanzas written by a bore
Prevent your ladyship from taking snuff.
1751
BYRON: _Lines to Lady Holland._

=Society.=

Man in society is like a flower
Blown in its native bed; 't is there alone
His faculties expanded in full bloom
Shine out; there only reach their proper use.
1752
COWPER: _Task,_ Bk. iv., Line 659.

Society became my glittering bride,
And airy hopes my children.
1753
WORDSWORTH: _Excursion,_ Bk. iii.

=Soldier.=

A soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.
1754
SHAKS.: _As You Like It,_ Act ii., Sc. 7.

And but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
1755
SHAKS.: _1 Henry IV.,_ Act i., Sc. 3.

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won.
1756
GOLDSMITH: _Des. Village,_ Line 155.

How shall we rank thee upon glory's page,
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage?
1757
MOORE: _To Thomas Hume._

=Solitude.=

Solitude sometimes is best soc