[…] spouting part of the briny Ocean in wantonnesse out of their oylie pipes bored by nature atop their prodigious ſhoulders, like ſo many floating Ilands concomitating us.

Wherefore, at times, as if in ancient mould / He looms, bepatched with paint […]

A truth beswathed by the cover of lies.

That galah nearly drove me off the road.