Oh, see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part,
	With a little hoard of maxims preaching dawn a daughter’s heart!

Tennyson.    

	Lord Angelo is precise;
	Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
	That his blood flows, or that his appetite
	Is more to bread than stone.

Shakespeare.    

	There are a sort of men, whose visages
	Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;
	And do a willful stillness entertain,
	With purpose to be dressed in an opinion
	Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
	As who should say, I am sir Oracle,
	And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!

Shakespeare.