Nor far they steppèd when on culm'inant height / where stretcht a gem-enamel'd mead they stood; / Smaragd and Ruby-strewn, so rich the sight / presumed 'twas Paradisial floor they trod.

She combs me down with her tongue sometimes though, but that just slips off me like water off a duck's back.

We would have won the match if we'd had a decent goalkeeper. And if my aunt had balls, she'd be my uncle!

In the Old West—anyway in the old westerns—morality and mechanics went gun-in-hand.