His hugy bulk on sev'n high volumes roll'd; Blue was his breadth of back, but streak'd with scaly gold.

Ther[idamas]. Won with thy words, & conquered with thy lookes, I yeeld my ſelfe, my men & horſe to thee: To be partaker of thy good or ill, As long as life maintaines Theridimas.

In addition, nowhere in the article did I sense that anyone is angry at Serrano or blaming the school for lax security or getting their tighties in a twiddle about this or that.

Oh, the beauty and heavenliness of a home where the empty-handed guest is not the less but the more welcome for his emptyhandedness!