1819, Lord Byron, Don Juan, I.193:Yet, if I name my guilt, 't is not to boast, None can deem harshlier of me than I deem ....
1918, W. B. Maxwell, The Mirror and the Lamp Chapter 7, The turmoil went on—no rest, no peace. … It was nearly eleven o'clock now, and he strolled out again. In the little fair created by the costers' barrows the evening only seemed beginning; and the naphtha flares made one's eyes ache, the men's voices grated harshly, and the girls' faces saddened one.
