“Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. "By George!" he exclaimed. 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. ‘Not at all
ladylike. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and between
ourselves I am not sure about it myself. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!"
Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's
mouth, and forced him out of the room.
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This video was uploaded to bookmarkriver.info on 28-06-2024 23:09:08