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. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. " Voices being heard at the door, Austin flew to open it, and admitted Mr. If hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime. Like appendicitis. "Let's try, at all events," returned the Amazon.
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