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. " "Impossible!" cried Jonathan. Ann Veronica paused before she answered. She pulled, he rose to his feet. “I do not wish to make impertinent inquiries into your private life. " "There's no hurry. . Horribly skinny he was, and short too. The likeness was ridiculous.
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