Some Pigeons Davy, a couple of ſhort-legg'd Hennes: a / ioynt of Mutton, and any pretty little tine Kickſhawes, / tell William Cooke.

A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows.

He saw the horrible form among the big trees, in the network of creepers in the fantastic outlines of leaves, of the great indented leaves that seemed to be so many enormous hands with big broad palms, with stiff fingers outspread to lay hold of him; […]

There's awesome speed, the revolutionary (for the time) blending of Brit-metal bombast— think Priest, Maiden, and especially Diamond Head—with the street-level aggression of hardcore punk, and the fierce technical edge of the music, best exemplified by Hetfield's aggressively downpicked, heavily palm-muted rhythm-guitar attack.