That galah nearly drove me off the road.
[…] spouting part of the briny Ocean in wantonnesse out of their oylie pipes bored by nature atop their prodigious ſhoulders, like ſo many floating Ilands concomitating us.
A truth beswathed by the cover of lies.
Wherefore, at times, as if in ancient mould / He looms, bepatched with paint […]
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