D, I suppose, In such a scant allowance of star-light, Would overtask
the best land-pilot's art, Without the sure guess of well-practised
feet. COMUS. I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy
dell, of this wild wood, And every bosky bourn from side to side, My
daily walks and ancient neighbourhood; And, if your stray attendance be
yet lodged, Or shroud within these limits, I shall know Ere morrow wake,
or the low-roo
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