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“Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. And me, I know very much of soldiers. “In a sense—yes. He had chosen his time well. “What is the good of talking?” said her brother. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 24-09-2024 14:58:18