She looked like Haymarket ware. A veritable trollop. Good God, she had chosen something Mrs. Daphne Coleraine might wear!

Has my Goodnes Clemencie, loue, and fauour gratious raysed thee From a Condition next to popular labour Tooke thee from all the dubitable hazards Of Fortune, her most unsecure aduentures And grafted thee into a Branch of honor […]

The beast sat on its haunches and tearingly ate the hind quarters of a still-squealing little pig.

It is first and foremost a literary prize, something I have to keep telling myself after reading the umpteenth eye-wateringly explicit gay sex scene.