He did not stagger in the least. "I'm afraid, Jack, you'll come to the gallows," observed the smith; "buth if you do, I'll go to Tyburn to see you. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. “Oh goody. Saint Giles's Round-house. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. ‘Oh, peste. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 10:49:16