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Letters to His Son, 1766-71

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All I desire for my own burial is not to be buried alive Anxiety for my health and life Borough-jobber Get what I can, if I cannot get what I will Horace I shall never know, though all the coffeehouses here do L'influenza Neither well nor ill, but UNWELL Read my eyes out every day, that I may not hang myself Stamp-act has proved a most pernicious measure Those who wish him the best, as I do, must wish him dead Water-drinkers can write nothing good Would have all intoleration intolerated in its turn Would not tell what she did not know

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