Homer, to whom the Muses did carouse A great deep cup with heav'nly nectar fill'd, The greatest, deepest cup in Jove's great house, (For Jove himself had so expressly will'd) He drank off all, nor let one drop be spill'd; Since when, his brain that had before been dry, Became the well-spring of all poetry.

Anything else? Yes, Lieutenant Lemmon? Yes, sir, Lemmon drawled. How do I get out of this chicken-shit outfit? Knock off the grabass, Glen. Okay, listen up. When you brief your people, make it clear that our mission is defensive only.

URL shorteners' popularity with spammers means we've blocked some of the big ones (at least temporarily) to cut down on the spammation.

Because the tide had been right to go, bedding had been stripped from the springs, food left about, water left unemptied to rust the kettles.