Now of all the eyes which ever were created----from your own, Madam, up to those of _Venus_ herself, which certainly were as venereal a pair of eyes as ever stood in a head----there never was an eye of them all, so fitted to rob my uncle _Toby_ of his repose, as the very eye, at which he was looking----it was not, Madam, a rolling eye----a romping or a wanton one--nor was it an eye sparkling--petulant or imperious--of high claims and terrifying exactions, which would have curdled at once that milk of human nature, of which my uncle _Toby_ was made up----but 'twas an eye full of gentle salutations----and soft responses----speaking---- not like the trumpet stop of some ill-made organ, in which many an eye I talk to, holds coarse converse----but whispering soft----like the last low accent of an expiring saint---- "How can you live comfortless, captain _Shandy_, and alone, without a bosom to lean your head on----or trust your cares to?"

Now of all the eyes which ever were created, up to those of Venus herself - there never was an eye so fitted to rob my uncle Toby of his repose, as this one. It was not, Madam, a rolling, wanton eye - nor an eye petulant and imperious, of high claims and terrifying demands, which would have curdled at once that milk of human nature which made up my uncle Toby.
'Twas an eye soft and gentle - speaking not like the trumpet stop of some ill-made organ, but whispering soft like the last low accent of an expiring saint - 'How can you live comfortless, captain Shandy, and alone, without a bosom to lean your head on - or to trust your cares to?'
