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A Gentleman rideing near the Forrest of Whichwood in Oxfordshire, ask'd a Fellow what that wood was call'd; He said Whichwood Sir; Why that wood: Whichwood Sir. Why that wood I tell thee. He still said, Whichwood. I think, says the Gentleman, the man is Wood: Yes, says he, I believe one of us is so, but I can't tell which.