1733–1737, Alexander Pope, [Imitations of Horace], London: […] R[obert] Dodsley [et al.]:
From the graveyard gate one can count a dozen gayly painted farmhouses; the gilded weather-vanes on the big red barns wink at each other across the green and brown and yellow fields.
You got into the Brixton shuffle. Shove, step, fuck off. Shove, step, fuck off, until you were clear. She didn't know what it was about Brixton; it was over some fault and allowed a strange brew, a ghost beer, to snake out from the earth's entrails: […]
This was the Pegomancy of the Greeks; who also solicited the answer of the Nymphs of the Spring, by offerings of bread, stones, or coins, or by dipping in a mirror, and construing the figures which the water had left on it.
