The mellow Harp did not their Ears employ: / And mute was all the Warlike Symphony: / Diſcourſe, the Food of Souls, was their Delight, / And pleaſing Chat, prolong'd the Summers-night.

To trace out to its marshy source every runlet that has cast in its tiny pitcherful with the rest.

But we can note how wonderfully Pirip has woven the eoan light to recreate the images of life's grey, last sickly days […]

The deduper compares these hashed representations along with metadata to determine exact and near dupes.