Putting out the Twitter trashfire / Tonight I’m drinking and talking about ways Twitter could be less of a shitheap.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, / In rayless majesty, now stretches forth / Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world.

The sack that thou hast drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest chandler's in Europe.

On the contrary, they employed the brief respite that was left them in fortifying one another's courage, and in bearing testimony to the truth in so earnest a manner that they might almost seem to have courted the crown of martyrdom.