Her artful Hands the radiant Treſſes ty'd; / Part on her Head in ſhining Ringlets roll'd, / Part o'er her Shoulders vvav'd like melted Gold.

[…] While still a pup, / You put him in a sack, then beat it / With a stick. When howls and yelpings die, / You send the houseboi out to set him free.

‘Everybody that knows anything about me knows that I wouldn't hurt a feeb.’

a six-page output; six pages of output