Where hast thou been for the last 500 years. Verily thou must have been sleeping.

Verily I say, the matter thou doeth bring forth may have been scribed priorly

I blame that new female prime minister, Thatcher be her name

That spawn of Shylock whose name does invokes the leafy hue
but whose heart is blacker than that of the most vile demon of the pit
did bring low the once proud Bulls of the North

He told a lie, an odious damned lie; Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
My grief lies all within,
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul.

But this Bradford never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

You're weird