He filled his pipe slowly. His eyes were bright with the hunt. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. 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. ” And she knew that she was safe.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 16-09-2024 18:00:26
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