You mean, Randy, those primitive religions in which the celebrants of the feast sacrifice a 'queen' bi-annually to propitiate unnatural forces like the sort of cannibalism which 'The Beatht,' as you so cunningly epithetize yon Moor, has been rumored to practice upon certain select and fortunate priestesses of the flesh?

Auicen saythe; There be certeyne medicins... which wyl not suffre poyson to approche nere the harte, as triacle and Metridate.

If my father did but drink a cup of small beer more than his wont, or did break out upon provocation into any fond oath, as “Od's niggers!” or “Heart alive!” he would mourn over it as though it were the seven deadly sins.

I tried to see if I could tell by his looks which way he had decided but I couldn't, and I thought praps it would be a good time to ask him and find out.