That last time I brought down Barry I crocked him. He's in his study now with a sprained ankle. ...

Lucent Nymphs / Gay circling round the glitterant Concaves ſhine.[…]Kings / In Purple ſumptuous cloath’d, with Shields of Gold, / Rode rapid on impetuous Courſers, proud / With gaudy Trappings, in th’ etherial Sky / Toſſing their Fronts, and ſhaking Glitterant Gems:[…]The Floor / Was glitterant Gold, but yielding to the Sight / Tranſparent, Cryſtal-like, where bloomy Flow’rs / Seem’d to expand their Beauties, ſoftest Shapes / Portrait’ring lovely.

He was bombastic and braggy to the point of trash talking fellow performers.

“I’ve got a bad egg,” said Bervick. “I guess this was a pre-war egg.” […] “It takes one to know one,” said the Chief, referring back to the eggs.