Enough, enough, rare Sibyl, sing us These runes no more, thy beverage bring us, And quickly fill the goblet to the brim; This drink may by my friend be safely taken: Full many grades the man can reckon, Many good SWIGS have entered him.
"Faust"
Goethe
An', w'ile 'e SWIGS the dew in sylvan bars, The sun shouts insults at the sneakin' stars.
"The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke"
C. J. Dennis
A few SWIGS of that'll make a pioneer of you quicker'n alkali.
"Desert Dust"
Edwin L. Sabin