‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind. 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. I ate only enough to keep body and soul together. “Broddick is a heavy man,” he was saying, “and the main interest of the play was the embezzlement. “Tell him that he is mad. How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world.
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