Hale

"I heard that Tom was dying." "Dying? He's hale and hearty!"

"Here Scylla, gaping from her gloomy lair, / the passing vessels on the rocks doth hale."

Yes, I am hale and hearty!

This Inspector, when I first knew him, was a man of fourscore years, or thereabouts, and certainly one of the most wonderful specimens of winter-green that you would be likely to discover in a lifetime’s search. With his florid cheek, his compact figure, smartly arrayed in a bright-buttoned blue coat, his brisk and vigorous step, and his hale and hearty aspect, altogether he seemed—not young, indeed—but a kind of new contrivance of Mother Nature in the shape of man, whom age and infirmity had no business to touch. His voice and laugh, which perpetually re-echoed through the Custom-House, had nothing of the tremulous quaver and cackle of an old man’s utterance; they came strutting out of his lungs, like the crow of a cock, or the blast of a clarion.

His stomach too begins to fail: / Last year we thought him strong and hale; / But now he's quite another thing: / I wish he may hold out till spring!

"Good morrow to thee, jolly fellow," quoth Robin, "thou seemest happy this merry morn." / "Ay, that am I," quoth the jolly Butcher, "and why should I not be so? Am I not hale in wind and limb? Have I not the bonniest lass in all Nottinghamshire? And lastly, am I not to be married to her on Thursday next in sweet Locksley Town?"

Then let them vale a bonet of their proud ſayle, / And of their taunting toies reſt with il hayle.

Eftſoones all heedleſſe of his deareſt hale, / Full greedily into the heard he thruſt: / To ſlaughter them, and vvorke their finall bale, / Leaſt that his toyle ſhould of their troups be bruſt.

For I had beene vilely hurried and haled by those poore men, which had taken the paines to carry me upon their armes a long and wearysome way, and to say truth, they had all beene wearied twice or thrice over, and were faine to shift severall times.

A ſpacious Breach we make, and Troy’s proud Wall / Built by the Gods, by our own hands doth fall; / Thus, all their help to their own Ruin give, / Some draw with Cords, and ſome the Monſter drive / With Rolls and Leavers, thus our Works it climbs, / Big with our Fate, the Youth with Songs and Rhimes, / Some dance, ſome hale the Rope; at laſt let down / It enters with a thund’ring Noiſe the Town.