‘But I don’t trust you an inch. Thus, in a few minutes, had this happy family been plunged into the depths of misery. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. 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. The stage manager came out from the wings, and taking her hand led her off. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 21-09-2024 05:23:10
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