A beggarly account of empty boxes.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Romeo and Juliet. Act v. Sc. 1.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,

Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.

War, he sung, is toil and trouble;

Honour but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,

Fighting still, and still destroying.

If all the world be worth the winning,

Think, oh think it worth enjoying:

Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee.

John Dryden (1631-1701): Alexander's Feast. Line 97.

Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,

Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw;

Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,

A little louder, but as empty quite;

Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,

And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age.

Pleased with this bauble still, as that before,

Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Essay on Man. Epistle ii. Line 274.

Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale,

Where in nice balance truth with gold she weighs,

And solid pudding against empty praise.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Dunciad. Book i. Line 52.

Words are but empty thanks.

Colley Cibber (1671-1757): Woman's Wit. Act v.

How sweetly did they float upon the wings

Of silence through the empty-vaulted night,

At every fall smoothing the raven down

Of darkness till it smil'd!

John Milton (1608-1674): Comus. Line 249.