The birds sing in the moonlight,
the router bubbles on all cylinders.
I pour another shot of rot gut
and climb into the bosun’s chair.
The girls in the band all had their meatpacker’s badge.
Eft wildre mealwan seawes þry lytle bollan fullan.
— Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of Early England
Hyoscyamus, when taken by a person in health, produces disorder of the nervous system
—Penny cyclopædia of the Society for the diffusion of useful knowledge
The gods were sitting at the board
In their great house at Slievenamon.
They sang a drowsy song, or snored,
For all were full of wine and meat.
The smoky torches made a glare
On metal Goban’d hammered at,
On old deep silver rolling there
Or on some still unemptied cup
That he, when frenzy stirred his thews,
Had hammered out on mountain top
To hold the sacred stuff he brews
That only gods may buy of him.
little girl blue come blow your corn
the cock’s in the meadow all swollen and sworn
just a bit stiff towards the old upper lip
No one has endurance like the man who sells insurance
At the woodchoppers’ ball.
He smells like an artifact from the seed bank.