O, confound these blastyd fevers o' th' hay! Groundlyngs, your dear Will has been accoasted on all sydes by the vexations of the spring winds & the bright sun. I sought to compose some verses for my newest historie under the shade of a greening tree, but retreated within the publike house after sneesing some dozen times and expending my rag to empty my nose! The spring pox it is!
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