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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. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. I do, however. . I am totally like this on my own. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. You said that it would bring trouble. Then she would write and tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new footing.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 11:56:30