At a great word she will her poynard draw, Looke for the pincke if once thou giue the lye.

[…] He's arguably the best pitcher on the Mets, the preening sportswriter writes, aspiring to Parnassus, which Red Smith reached by never using words like arguably.

I have, by the salomon, a doxy that carries a kinchin mort in her slate at her back, besides my dell and my dainty wild dell, with all whom I'll tumble this next darkmans in the strommel […]

You judas, you cow-handed poltroon, we thought you were a stallion.