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. ’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits. She was shocked. They’re too free for their innocence or too innocent for their freedom. " "Where are they?" "Ay, where are they?" chorussed the mob, flourishing their various weapons, and flashing their torches in the air; "we'll starve 'em out. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 19-09-2024 19:14:51
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