” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. 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. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. " "There it is;" replied the other, tossing him the glove.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 20-09-2024 16:34:37
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