Oh, what a good friend I lose in him.

Alas, alas! this is another gats-bout than last year's.

We are falling out of Scylla into Charybdis.

Oho! I drown.

Confiteor; one poor word or two by way of testament, Friar John, my ghostly father; good Mr.Abstractor, my crony, my Achates, Xenomanes, my all.