Put by the sword, poor dotards as ye are, Leave arms to men, like us, nor meddle with the war.
"The Aeneid of Virgil" by Virgil
Then you'll not take my word for it, But let a dotard's clatterjaw destroy you?
"Krindlesyke" by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
It was probably some dotard who reads Keats.
"The Loom of Youth" by Alec Waugh
I am ashamed to lose my patience with such a dotard.
"Alroy The Prince Of The Captivity" by Benjamin Disraeli
The old dotard turned the colour of my teeth when he looked up and spied it.
"Sir Ludar" by Talbot Baines Reed
What, am I then a toy for dotard's play, 1510 To wear but till the gilding frets away?
"The Works Of Lord Byron, Vol. 3 (of 7)" by Lord Byron
I have prayed God that I may die before they bring me to the dotard's bed.
"Chivalry" by James Branch Cabell
What though an old dotard calling himself Henry Long is stumping around fifty years hence, what is that to me?
"The Old Folks' Party" by Edward Bellamy
And the old ducal dotard, who combined The worthy voices which o'er-ruled my own.
"The Works of Lord Byron" by Lord Byron
Dost think there's no life and vigor in this arm, thou drivelling old dotard?
"Rookwood" by William Harrison Ainsworth
And some are dotards, who believe
And glory in the days of old;
While some are dreamers, harping still
Upon an unknown age of gold.
"The Mendicants" by Bliss William Carman
The miser must make up his plum,
And dares not touch the hoarded sum;
The sickly dotard wants a wife
To draw off his last dregs of life.
"The Ladle. A Tale" by Matthew Prior
Then marked I how each germ of truth
Which through the dotard's fingers ran
Was mated with a dragon's tooth
Whence there sprang up an armed man.
"The Sower" by James Russell Lowell
SIGISMUND. A second time you dare to cross my way.
Old dotard: do you hold
My rage in such slight awe you are so bold?
What brought you hither? Speak!
"Life Is A Dream - Act II" by Denis Florence MacCarthy
Let some dull dotard bask in thy gay shrine,
As in the sun regales his wanton herd;
Guiltless of envy, why should I repine
That his rude voice, his grating reed's, preferr'd?
"Elegy X. To Fortune, Suggesting His Motive for Repining at Her Dispensations" by William Shenstone
Lochiel. — Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight!
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.
"Lochiel's Warning" by Thomas Campbell