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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. This was what he missed. Down on your
marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you
from the gallows. Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the
road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. Charcoal. She had lost it. Celestial Uncles! Spurlock chuckled, and a bit of chestnut, going
down the wrong way, set him to coughing violently. There isn’t. You may enjoy your
pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. Earles declared good-humouredly, “but I shall not let
you go without drinking a glass of wine to our success. “Jacques is wounded and we are arrested by this imbecile of a sergeant. . Ever smelled Eternity for Men?
I think I smelled it on Josh once. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will
plunge it to my heart.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 29-06-2024 15:13:45