sf, this is not meant in any way to be an admonishment or overly critical,
but most accepted Usenet faqs recommend that the length of sigs be limited to
4 lines. Your new sig seems to come in somewhere around 15-16 lines (with
wordwrap), which does seem to be a bit excessive. It's particularly
noticable when the post itself is considerably shorter.

Regards...

--
Wayne Boatwright
____________________________________________

Give me a smart idiot over a stupid genius any day.
Sam Goldwyn, 1882-1974

On 6 Apr 2005 07:28:22 +0200, Wayne Boatwright
> wrote:

> sf, this is not meant in any way to be an admonishment or overly critical,
> but most accepted Usenet faqs recommend that the length of sigs be limited to
> 4 lines. Your new sig seems to come in somewhere around 15-16 lines (with
> wordwrap), which does seem to be a bit excessive. It's particularly
> noticable when the post itself is considerably shorter.
>
> Regards...


Thanks, Wayne. I'm not a fan of big sigs. It isn't my style, but I'm
in a certain "mood" right now. I plan to delete it soon.... but not
tonight.

Aside: I find it interesting that my sig line wrapped in another group
but not in this one. Weird.




We must not let our rulers load us with perpetual debt. We must make our
election between economy and liberty or profusion and servitude"

If we run into such debt, as that we must be taxed in our meat and in our
drink, in our necessaries and our comforts, in our labors and our amusements,
for our calling and our creeds...we [will] have no time to think, no means of
calling our miss-managers to account but be glad to obtain subsistence by
hiring ourselves to rivet their chains on the necks of our fellow-sufferers.
And this is the tendency of all human governments. A departure from principle
in one instance becomes a precedent for another till the bulk of society is
reduced to be mere automatons of misery.

And the fore-horse of this frightful team is public debt. Taxation follows
that and in its train wretchedness and oppression.

Thomas Jefferson,
Author of The Declaration of Independence, Founding Father and Third U.S. President

On Tue 05 Apr 2005 10:53:26p, sf wrote in rec.food.cooking:

> On 6 Apr 2005 07:28:22 +0200, Wayne Boatwright
> > wrote:
>
>> sf, this is not meant in any way to be an admonishment or overly
>> critical, but most accepted Usenet faqs recommend that the length of
>> sigs be limited to 4 lines. Your new sig seems to come in somewhere
>> around 15-16 lines (with wordwrap), which does seem to be a bit
>> excessive. It's particularly noticable when the post itself is
>> considerably shorter.
>>
>> Regards...
>
>
> Thanks, Wayne. I'm not a fan of big sigs. It isn't my style, but I'm
> in a certain "mood" right now. I plan to delete it soon.... but not
> tonight.

Oh, I wasn't asking you to delete it. I didn't know if you were aware of
the recommendations. Didn't want someone else to chew you out.

> Aside: I find it interesting that my sig line wrapped in another group
> but not in this one. Weird.

That is strange. Perhaps it has something to do with the paticular server
a group's root is on.

>
>
>
> We must not let our rulers load us with perpetual debt. We must make our
> election between economy and liberty or profusion and servitude"
>
> If we run into such debt, as that we must be taxed in our meat and in
> our drink, in our necessaries and our comforts, in our labors and our
> amusements, for our calling and our creeds...we [will] have no time to
> think, no means of calling our miss-managers to account but be glad to
> obtain subsistence by hiring ourselves to rivet their chains on the
> necks of our fellow-sufferers. And this is the tendency of all human
> governments. A departure from principle in one instance becomes a
> precedent for another till the bulk of society is reduced to be mere
> automatons of misery.
>
> And the fore-horse of this frightful team is public debt. Taxation
> follows that and in its train wretchedness and oppression.
>
> Thomas Jefferson,
> Author of The Declaration of Independence, Founding Father and Third
> U.S. President



--
Wayne Boatwright
____________________________________________

Give me a smart idiot over a stupid genius any day.
Sam Goldwyn, 1882-1974

In article >,
sf > wrote:

> On 6 Apr 2005 07:28:22 +0200, Wayne Boatwright
> > wrote:
>
> > sf, this is not meant in any way to be an admonishment or overly critical,
> > but most accepted Usenet faqs recommend that the length of sigs be limited
> > to
> > 4 lines. Your new sig seems to come in somewhere around 15-16 lines (with
> > wordwrap), which does seem to be a bit excessive. It's particularly
> > noticable when the post itself is considerably shorter.
> >
> > Regards...
>
>
> Thanks, Wayne. I'm not a fan of big sigs. It isn't my style, but I'm
> in a certain "mood" right now. I plan to delete it soon.... but not
> tonight.
>
> Aside: I find it interesting that my sig line wrapped in another group
> but not in this one. Weird.
>
>
>

Anything to do with the assinine gas prices perchance? <G>
--
K.

"sf" > wrote in message
...
> On 6 Apr 2005 07:28:22 +0200, Wayne Boatwright
> > wrote:
>
>> sf, this is not meant in any way to be an admonishment or overly
>> critical,
>> but most accepted Usenet faqs recommend that the length of sigs be
>> limited to
>> 4 lines. Your new sig seems to come in somewhere around 15-16 lines
>> (with
>> wordwrap), which does seem to be a bit excessive. It's particularly
>> noticable when the post itself is considerably shorter.
>>
>> Regards...
>
>
> Thanks, Wayne. I'm not a fan of big sigs. It isn't my style, but I'm
> in a certain "mood" right now. I plan to delete it soon.... but not
> tonight.
>
> Aside: I find it interesting that my sig line wrapped in another group
> but not in this one. Weird.
>
>
>
>
> We must not let our rulers load us with perpetual debt. We must make our
> election between economy and liberty or profusion and servitude"
>
> If we run into such debt, as that we must be taxed in our meat and in our
> drink, in our necessaries and our comforts, in our labors and our
> amusements,
> for our calling and our creeds...we [will] have no time to think, no means
> of
> calling our miss-managers to account but be glad to obtain subsistence by
> hiring ourselves to rivet their chains on the necks of our
> fellow-sufferers.
> And this is the tendency of all human governments. A departure from
> principle
> in one instance becomes a precedent for another till the bulk of society
> is
> reduced to be mere automatons of misery.
>
> And the fore-horse of this frightful team is public debt. Taxation follows
> that and in its train wretchedness and oppression.
>
> Thomas Jefferson,
> Author of The Declaration of Independence, Founding Father and Third U.S.
> President

:-)


--
IT is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,
'There was a ship,' quoth he.
'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye-
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

'The ship was cheer'd, the harbour clear'd,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.

The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon--'
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

'And now the Storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roar'd the blast,
The southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd,
Like noises in a swound!

At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hail'd it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steer'd us through!

And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners' hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perch'd for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmer'd the white moonshine.'

'God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-
Why look'st thou so?'-'With my crossbow
I shot the Albatross.

PART II
'The Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done an hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow follow'd free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.

And some in dreams assuréd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was wither'd at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.

PART III
'There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parch'd, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye!
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seem'd a little speck,
And then it seem'd a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it near'd and near'd:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged, and tack'd, and veer'd.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I suck'd the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal-
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!

The western wave was all aflame,
The day was wellnigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad, bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.

And straight the Sun was fleck'd with bars
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!),
As if through a dungeon-grate he peer'd
With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the Sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? and are there two?
Is Death that Woman's mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
"The game is done! I've won! I've won!"
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.

We listen'd and look'd sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seem'd to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp gleam'd white;
From the sails the dew did drip-
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The hornéd Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.

One after one, by the star-dogg'd Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan),
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropp'd down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly-
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it pass'd me by
Like the whizz of my crossbow!'


'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribb'd sea-sand.

I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand so brown.'-
'Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropt not down.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.

I look'd upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I look'd upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.

I look'd to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.

The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they look'd on me
Had never pass'd away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.

The moving Moon went up the sky,
And nowhere did abide;
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside-

Her beams bemock'd the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charméd water burnt alway
A still and awful red.

Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watch'd the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they rear'd, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watch'd their rich atti
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coil'd and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might decla
A spring of love gush'd from my heart,
And I bless'd them unawa
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I bless'd them unaware.

The selfsame moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.

PART V
'O sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remain'd,
I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew;
And when I awoke, it rain'd.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.

I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light-almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blesséd ghost.

And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.

The upper air burst into life;
And a hundred fire-flags sheen;
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.

And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain pour'd down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.

The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side;
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

The loud wind never reach'd the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.

They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.

The helmsman steer'd, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools-
We were a ghastly crew.

The body of my brother's son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pull'd at one rope,
But he said naught to me.'

'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!'
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest:
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:

For when it dawn'd-they dropp'd their arms,
And cluster'd round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies pass'd.

Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mix'd, now one by one.

Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the skylark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seem'd to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!

And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel's song,
That makes the Heavens be mute.

It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Till noon we quietly sail'd on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The Spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.

The Sun, right up above the mast,
Had fix'd her to the ocean:
But in a minute she 'gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion-
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life return'd,
I heard, and in my soul discern'd
Two voices in the air.

"Is it he?" quoth one, "is this the man?
By Him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.

The Spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow."

The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, "The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do."

PART VI
First Voice: '"But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing-
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the Ocean doing?"

Second Voice: "Still as a slave before his lord,
The Ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast-

If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him."

First Voice: "But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?"

Second Voice: "The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner's trance is abated.'

I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high;
The dead men stood together.

All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fix'd on me their stony eyes,
That in the Moon did glitter.

The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never pass'd away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.

And now this spell was snapt: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And look'd far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen-

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turn'd round, walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.

It raised my hair, it fann'd my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring-
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sail'd softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-
On me alone it blew.

O dream of joy! is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray-
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon.

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steep'd in silentness
The steady weathercock.

And the bay was white with silent light
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows we
I turn'd my eyes upon the deck-
O Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart-
No voice; but O, the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turn'd perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third-I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
The Albatross's blood.

PART VII
'This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countree.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve-
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat near'd: I heard them talk,
"Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?"

"Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit said-
"And they answer'd not our cheer!
The planks looked warp'd! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young."

"Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look-
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-fear'd"-"Push on, push on!"
Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirr'd;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reach'd the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.

Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drown'd
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips-the Pilot shriek'd
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And pray'd where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
"Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see
The Devil knows how to row."

And now, all in my own countree,
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.

"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!"
The Hermit cross'd his brow.
"Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say-
What manner of man art thou?"

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are the
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing a
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide, wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God Himself
Scarce seeméd there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!-

To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens ***!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.'

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunn'd,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge 1772-1834

Ah, another Coleridge fan How about Poe? The Raven makes a nice long
sig (giggling)

And OB Food: Four and twenty blackbirds can be baked in a pie!

Jill

Bob wrote:
> "sf" > wrote in message
> ...
>> On 6 Apr 2005 07:28:22 +0200, Wayne Boatwright
>> > wrote:
>>
>>> sf, this is not meant in any way to be an admonishment or overly
>>> critical,
>>> but most accepted Usenet faqs recommend that the length of sigs be
>>> limited to
>>> 4 lines. Your new sig seems to come in somewhere around 15-16
>>> lines (with
>>> wordwrap), which does seem to be a bit excessive. It's
>>> particularly noticable when the post itself is considerably
>>> shorter.
>>>
>>> Regards...
>>
>>
>> Thanks, Wayne. I'm not a fan of big sigs. It isn't my style, but
>> I'm
>> in a certain "mood" right now. I plan to delete it soon.... but not
>> tonight.
>>
>> Aside: I find it interesting that my sig line wrapped in another
>> group but not in this one. Weird.
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> We must not let our rulers load us with perpetual debt. We must make
>> our election between economy and liberty or profusion and servitude"
>>
>> If we run into such debt, as that we must be taxed in our meat and
>> in our drink, in our necessaries and our comforts, in our labors and
>> our amusements,
>> for our calling and our creeds...we [will] have no time to think, no
>> means of
>> calling our miss-managers to account but be glad to obtain
>> subsistence by hiring ourselves to rivet their chains on the necks
>> of our fellow-sufferers.
>> And this is the tendency of all human governments. A departure from
>> principle
>> in one instance becomes a precedent for another till the bulk of
>> society is
>> reduced to be mere automatons of misery.
>>
>> And the fore-horse of this frightful team is public debt. Taxation
>> follows that and in its train wretchedness and oppression.
>>
>> Thomas Jefferson,
>> Author of The Declaration of Independence, Founding Father and Third
>> U.S. President
>
> :-)

On Wed 06 Apr 2005 01:34:06p, jmcquown wrote in rec.food.cooking:

> Ah, another Coleridge fan How about Poe? The Raven makes a nice long
> sig (giggling)
>
> And OB Food: Four and twenty blackbirds can be baked in a pie!
>
> Jill

What size pie shell would you need for that? Shortcrust or puff pastry?


> Bob wrote:
>> "sf" > wrote in message
>> ...
>>> On 6 Apr 2005 07:28:22 +0200, Wayne Boatwright
>>> > wrote:
>>>
>>>> sf, this is not meant in any way to be an admonishment or overly
>>>> critical, but most accepted Usenet faqs recommend that the length
>>>> of sigs be
>>>> limited to
>>>> 4 lines. Your new sig seems to come in somewhere around 15-16
>>>> lines (with
>>>> wordwrap), which does seem to be a bit excessive. It's
>>>> particularly noticable when the post itself is considerably
>>>> shorter.
>>>>
>>>> Regards...
>>>
>>>
>>> Thanks, Wayne. I'm not a fan of big sigs. It isn't my style, but
>>> I'm
>>> in a certain "mood" right now. I plan to delete it soon.... but not
>>> tonight.
>>>
>>> Aside: I find it interesting that my sig line wrapped in another
>>> group but not in this one. Weird.
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>>
>>> We must not let our rulers load us with perpetual debt. We must make
>>> our election between economy and liberty or profusion and servitude"
>>>
>>> If we run into such debt, as that we must be taxed in our meat and
>>> in our drink, in our necessaries and our comforts, in our labors and
>>> our amusements,
>>> for our calling and our creeds...we [will] have no time to think, no
>>> means of
>>> calling our miss-managers to account but be glad to obtain
>>> subsistence by hiring ourselves to rivet their chains on the necks
>>> of our fellow-sufferers.
>>> And this is the tendency of all human governments. A departure from
>>> principle in one instance becomes a precedent for another till the
>>> bulk of society is
>>> reduced to be mere automatons of misery.
>>>
>>> And the fore-horse of this frightful team is public debt. Taxation
>>> follows that and in its train wretchedness and oppression.
>>>
>>> Thomas Jefferson,
>>> Author of The Declaration of Independence, Founding Father and Third
>>> U.S. President
>>
>> :-)
>
>
>



--
Wayne Boatwright
____________________________________________

Give me a smart idiot over a stupid genius any day.
Sam Goldwyn, 1882-1974

Wayne Boatwright wrote:
> On Wed 06 Apr 2005 01:34:06p, jmcquown wrote in rec.food.cooking:
>
>> Ah, another Coleridge fan How about Poe? The Raven makes a nice
>> long sig (giggling)
>>
>> And OB Food: Four and twenty blackbirds can be baked in a pie!
>>
>> Jill
>
> What size pie shell would you need for that? Shortcrust or puff
> pastry?
>
Shortcrust and a deep dish 9 inch pie pan You'll need a top crust, too.

Jill

On Wed 06 Apr 2005 01:58:34p, jmcquown wrote in rec.food.cooking:

> Wayne Boatwright wrote:
>> On Wed 06 Apr 2005 01:34:06p, jmcquown wrote in rec.food.cooking:
>>
>>> Ah, another Coleridge fan How about Poe? The Raven makes a nice
>>> long sig (giggling)
>>>
>>> And OB Food: Four and twenty blackbirds can be baked in a pie!
>>>
>>> Jill
>>
>> What size pie shell would you need for that? Shortcrust or puff
>> pastry?
>>
> Shortcrust and a deep dish 9 inch pie pan You'll need a top crust,
> too.
>
> Jill

Gee, they must be very tiny blackbirds! Maybe I'll just opt for
blackberries. <g>


--
Wayne Boatwright
____________________________________________

Give me a smart idiot over a stupid genius any day.
Sam Goldwyn, 1882-1974

>> Wayne Boatwright wrote:
>>> On Wed 06 Apr 2005 01:34:06p, jmcquown wrote in rec.food.cooking:
>>>
>>>> And OB Food: Four and twenty blackbirds can be baked in a pie!
>>>>
>>>> Jill
>>>
>>> What size pie shell would you need for that? Shortcrust or puff
>>> pastry?
>>>
>> Shortcrust and a deep dish 9 inch pie pan You'll need a top
>> crust, too.
>>
>> Jill
>
> Gee, they must be very tiny blackbirds! Maybe I'll just opt for
> blackberries. <g>

Ya gotta debone 'em first; not much meat on those suckers. Blackberries
would be better (and less likely to protest).

Jill