"Hobnail" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... Sir, you are a gentleman of rank and fortune, and I am a poor devil: you are a feather in the cap of society, and I am a very hobnail in its shoes; yet I have the honour to belong to the same family with you, and on that score I now address you. You will perhaps suspect that I am going to claim affinity with the ancient and honourable house ...
— The Complete Works of Robert Burns: Containing his Poems, Songs, and Correspondence. • Robert Burns and Allan Cunningham
... ended, each party fell to bawling and calling for particular tunes. The hobnail'd fellows, whose breeches and lungs seem'd to be of the same leather, cried out for 'Cheshire Rounds, Roger ...
— The Spectator, Volumes 1, 2 and 3 - With Translations and Index for the Series • Joseph Addison and Richard Steele
... speaks has been fierily furnaced In the blast of a life that has struggled in earnest: There he stands, looking more like a ploughman than priest, If not dreadfully awkward, not graceful at least, His gestures all downright and same, if you will, As of brown-fisted Hobnail in hoeing a drill; But his periods fall on you, stroke after stroke, Like the blows of a lumberer felling an oak, You forget the man wholly, you're thankful to meet 810 With a preacher who smacks of the field and the street, And to hear, you're not over-particular whence, Almost Taylor's profusion, ...
— The Complete Poetical Works of James Russell Lowell • James Lowell
... tobacco; and equally robust subjects are forced to abandon the habit because of tremors, vertigo or a peculiar form of dyspepsia. We have known men who died from the use of tobacco, and others who met a like fate from whisky, who were never fully in the state denominated drunk. Men may earn a hobnail liver and dropsy by the constant, steady use of alcoholic drink taken systematically, so as always to keep within the limits of intoxication; or they may, in the same way, get a diabetes ...
— Grappling with the Monster • T. S. Arthur
... seem'd that nations did conspire To offer to the god of fire Some vast, stupendous sacrifice! The summon'd firemen woke at call, And hied them to their stations all: Starting from short and broken snooze, Each sought his pond'rous hobnail'd shoes, But first his worsted hosen plied, Plush breeches next, in crimson dyed, His nether bulk embraced; Then jacket thick, of red or blue, Whose massy shoulder gave to view The badge of each respective crew, In tin or copper traced. The engines thunder'd ...
— Rejected Addresses: or, The New Theatrum Poetarum • James and Horace Smith |
