Twanged the ſtring, out flew the quarell long, / And through the ſubtile aire did ſinging pas, / It hit the knight the buckles rich among, / Wherewith his pretious girdle faſt'ned was, / It bruſed them and pearſt his hawberke ſtrong, / Some little blood downe trickled on the gras; …

After failing to win the leadership election, he flounced dramatically.

That report is heavy going.

Ina Goober, whom I admitted six times last year. A gomer, or rather, the feminine, gomere.