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 next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. It ran: —————————————————————————| Bored | and | nothing |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| | will | you | dine |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| | to-night | somewhere | and |—————|—————-|—————|————|————| | shall | be | grateful —————————————————————————- | to | do | | with | me | | talk | I | | Ramage | | Ann Veronica was rather pleased by this. Crossing them, he ascended an eminence, which, from its singular shape, seems to have been the site of a Roman encampment, and which commands a magnificent prospect.
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This video was uploaded to southwestbyways.info on 18-09-2024 21:36:14
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