” He started back as though he had been shot. It heralded you, promised you. 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 am really in earnest. ’ ‘Capting Roding wouldn’t never command me to help no Frenchie,’ said the sergeant positively.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 10-09-2024 18:51:31
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