One day a saint, wandering in the vicinity in search of drinking water, fainted. As he regained his senses, he could hear the trickle of water running from the Pot. He drank his fill and since then the spring has never gone dry.

While some glad Rival in her Arms did lye, Glutted with Love and surfeited with Joy.

There is nothing more acceptable unto the ingenious world than this noble eluctation of truth

Snow filled her mouth. She caromed off things she never saw, tumbling through a cluttered canyon like a steel marble falling through pins in a pachinko machine.