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But, when the blackning Clouds in sprinkling Show'rs Distill, from the high Summits down the Rain Runs trickling; with the fertile Moisture chear'd, The Orchats smile; joyous the Farmers see Their thriving Plants, and bless the heav'nly Dew. - [Rain] Sturdy swains, in clean array, for rustic dance prepare, mixed with the buxom damsels hand in hand. - [Dress]
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