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"Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. 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. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much in my entire life, Lucy, and that’s saying something. " "Ah! you're so very particular," sighed Mrs. . ” She said, knowing that his kindness was certainly not the primary motivation for his magnum opus. “No, you didn’t.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 11:51:50