[…] the conduits of water, wherewithout men cannot commodiously live, have now failed, and are dried up in those hills.
After so many days of rain, the kids started to get a bit stir-crazy.
“[…]No, yer dumb clit, it ain't rainin'. Where yer bin? It ain't rained for months.”
With early virtues plant your breaſt, / The ſpecious arts of vice deteſt.
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