We lop over against my grandfather We awake with a start.

" We migrated to the cheerfully shabby little apartment, and, when Mrs. Gummer had served coffee, with gloomy resignation (as who should say: "If you will drink this sort of stuff I suppose you must, but don't blame me for the consequences"), I settled Mr. Bellingham in Barnard's favourite lop-sided easy chairthe depressed seat of which suggested its customary use by an elephant of sedentary habitsand opened the diminutive piano.

But he was contented to lop off branches; he did not dig up the roots.

It is extremely fortunate for Mr. de Laney that he is a de Laney on both sides, for otherwise he would be lop-sided.

The attempts to lop off excrescences are not, perhaps, always happy.

The fronds burdened with snow lop over among the withered leaves and continue green until the new ones shoot up in the spring.

They therefore killed at his grave an old, ill-conditioned, lop-eared horse.

"Now thyself hath lost both lop and top.

Before leaving the Chair the SPEAKER was proceeding to lop off a few excrescences in the way of Instructions that appeared on the Order-paper.

He was evidently a stranger, and in favor of the trim Siberians, scorning the rangy "Lop-ears," as they are sometimes called in derision.

And take the Doctors too, in their grave Counsels, That there might be no natural help for mony: How merrily would my Bells goe then? Lop.

Lop. Come, I am tender of ye. Lea.

good Sir. Lop.

Lop. Let Weddings, Christnings, Churchings, Funerals, And merry Gossippings go round, go round still, Round as a Pig, that we may find the profit.

Lop. Be gone Neighbours, Here are some Gentlemen: be gone good Neighbours, Be gone, and labour to redeem my favour, No more words, but be gone: these two are Gentlemen, No company for crusty-handed fellows.

Lop. Fill all your hearts with joy, we will stay with ye, Be gone, no more; I take your pastimes graciously.

Mil. Remembrances? Lop.

Do I not touch ye? Lop.

Lop. Sits the game there?

And chosen me Executor? Lop.

Lop. Are ye not weary?

Lop. Form?

'tis a Paratour That comes to tell ye a delightfull story Of an old whore ye have, and then to teach ye What is the penaltie; Laugh at me now Sir, What Legacie would ye bequeath me now, (And pay it on the nail?) to fly my fury? Lop.

Lop. Let me goe Sir. Bar.

Right in the middest of that Paradise There stood a stately mount, on whose round top A gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise, Whose shady boughes sharp steele did never lop, Nor wicked beastes their tender buds did crop,