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Ripening in the dog-star's ray, Some, too early mown, doth lay; Some in graceful shocks doth stand Nodding farewell to the land That did give it life and birth; Some is borne, with shout and mirth, Drooping o'er the groaning wain. Through the deep embowered lane; And the happy cottaged poor, Hail it, as it glooms their door, With a glad, unselfish cry, Though they'll buy it bitterly.
They had a head with short haire of one of that nation, that uses to have their hair turned up like the prickles of an headg hogge. We cottaged ourselves by them. Some of them knewed me & made much of mee. They gave me a guirland of porcelaine & a girdle of goat's haire. They asked when should I visit my ffriends. I promissed to come there as soone as I could arrive att the upper village.
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