Oh, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd,
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces! Shak. H. VI.
Be subject to no sight but mine: invisible
To every eyeball else. Shakespeare's Tempest.
I feel my hair grow stiff, my eyeballs rowl;
This is the only form could shake my soul. Dryd. Ind. Emp.
Not when a gilt buffet's reflected pride
Turns you from sound philosophy aside,
Not when from plate to plate your eyeballs roll,
And the brain dances to the mantling bowl. Pope's Horace.