There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. “I can survive on my own. ‘He wanted me also to run away with him, and I wish very much that I had done so. ” She solemnly replied.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 24-09-2024 16:11:07