These easterly rains, when they do come, which is not often, come wi' might enough to squail a man into his grave.
"The Hand of Ethelberta" by Thomas Hardy
How would you like to make a dress for Mrs. Squails, Phil?
"Not Like Other Girls" by Rosa N. Carey
In the orchard Bevis and Mark squailed at the pears with short sticks.
"Bevis" by Richard Jefferies