Spatter

His axel-tree, and chariot wheeles, all spatterd with the blood Hurl’d from the steeds houes, and the strakes.

The old Welshman came home toward daylight, spattered with candle-grease, smeared with clay, and almost worn out.

He began to blow at the surface of the tea. He blew too hard and the tea spattered the skirt of Nurse Clock’s uniform.

[…] she seem’d to have woven the Rainbow into a loose Robe, which being so rarified that she might be seen through it, and also spatter’d with radiant Jewells in the forms of Starrs […]

The low, whitewashed houses between the red and green acacia trees are spattered with shell-holes […]

1955, Samuel Beckett and Patrick Bowles (translators), Molloy by Samuel Beckett, in Three Novels, London: Calder, 1994, p. 128, The roof’s serrated ridge, the single chimney-stack with its four flues, stood out faintly against the sky spattered with a few dim stars.

Patches of light sifting through them [the trees] spattered the concrete walks with sunshine.

Then they began to climb, steering to open uplands spattered with yellow cinquefoil […]

to spatter blood

Perhaps ev’n I, reserv’d by angry Fate The last sad Relick of my ruin’d State, (Dire Pomp of sov’reign Wretchedness!) must fall, And stain the Pavement of my regal Hall; Where famish’d Dogs, late Guardians of my Door, Shall lick their mangled Master’s spatter’d Gore.

O God, that I were in some wide field With nothing but my battle-axe and him To spatter his brains!

Streaks of DeHaven’s real face can be seen through the trademark face as the clown slams the hood shut in the spattered rain.

The cabman spattered his few words of English.

[…] they had seen him, at the sound of the alarm, rush like a madman from his window in Gant’s shop, leaving the spattered fragments of a watch upon his desk […]

[…] a man with a machine gun sits in a cage suspended from the ceiling and moving like a trolley spatters bullets into the cells.

Make sure the pieces of fish are dry before you put them into the hot oil so that it doesn’t spatter.

they fondly thinking to allay Thir appetite with gust, instead of Fruit Chewd bitter Ashes, which th’ offended taste With spattering noise rejected:

Where the headquarters tent sags, water drips down and spatters on the table.

Later, the two priests left together, […] their hoods pulled up because it had begun to spatter with rain.

Most mornings he roasted lamb, turning it on a spit, where it spattered and dripped […]

1647, John Hall, “A Genethliacon to the Infant Muse of his dearest Friend” in Poems, London: J. Rothwell, Let envy spatter what it can, This Embryon will prove a man.

1728, John Gay, The Beggar’s Opera, Dublin: George Risk et al., Act II, Scene 13, “Good-morrow, Gossip Joan,” p. 42, Why how now, Madam Flirt? If you thus must chatter; And are for flinging Dirt, Let’s try who best can spatter;

1770, George Saville Carey, “To a Friend” in Analects in Verse and Prose, London: P. Shatwell et al., Volume 2, p. 171, I Wrote a letter long ago, But did not like it, you must know, So rather chose to take my time, And write my own defence in rhime, Though not in your be-crabbed stile, To spatter, threaten, and revile;

[…] there is nothing but may be represented upon some principle or other apparently worthy, without the wretched necessity of having recourse to spatter and vilify others.

1763, Richard Bentley, Patriotism, a Mock-Heroic, London: M. Hinxman, Canto 5, pp. 65-66, As a rough Water-Dog, New-England’s Breed, Fresh plaister’d from some Pond with Mud and Weed, Round from his Fleece the dirty Puddle shakes Rejoicing in the Spatter that he makes:

Ivar turned the mare and urged her into a sliding trot. Her feet sent back a continual spatter of mud.

She crosses the plaza, receives a quick spatter from the fountain […]

There was what looked like a spatter of blood on one wall.

[…] I groped from step to step, collecting the shattered earthenware, and drying the spatters of milk from the banister with my pocket-handkerchief.

[…] they led the way in through the huge arch, over the icy ground that was filthy with the spatter of the birds.

As Henry lay awake that first night the hiss and spatter of the rain against his window seemed to have a personal grudge against him.

[Father Roman] had shriven many simple souls on the battlefields of the Republic, kneeling by the dying on hillsides, in the long grass, in the gloom of the forests, to hear the last confession with the smell of gunpowder smoke in his nostrils, the rattle of muskets, the hum and spatter of bullets in his ears.

The rapid handing out of the diplomas brought frequent applause—bits, spatters, volleys, as the case might be.

He went through the darkened parlor with its low early evening spatter of conversation.

[…] punctuated by the roar of great automobiles, overtaking gangsters, the spatter of tommy-guns mowing them down […]

1988, Don DeLillo, Libra, New York: Viking, Part 2, “12 August,” p. 270, The attendant had a droopy lower lip, a rust-tone complexion with a spatter of freckles across the cheekbones […]

It was untidy; the quarters of someone not used to looking after herself; to seat himself he removed the stained cup and plate and a spatter of envelopes, sheets of opened letters, withered apple-peel, old Sunday paper, from a chair.