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Second Miracle.
But passe on Pilgrim, till thou viewst,An Island called Honopeust.
The Mortalls there ('tis truth is sed)
Make one great Lake their Common bed:
Under whose waters they sleepe sound,
As we doe here above the ground.
They've a fine time on't, in all weather,
Mud is their downe-bed, and their Feather.
3
Lesse Eeles and Carpes doe pinch their side.
A goodly sort of people these,
To whom the Fishes are the fleas.
A stranger wonder ne're was found,
To these to sleepe, is to be drown'd.
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