But I am one who wish that Time, the great deluder, were not so over-masterful.
[…] the heart gratefully throbbing—overswelled with thankful sensations
Now if they were playing faro I could make a killing.
[…] Nature stirres up all young things, Boyes, and Lambs, and Kitlins, to play and run about, by which they disperse the cloggy humours that otherwise would settle in their joynts […]
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