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. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. ‘Me, I have a name. “What can I do?” “Go and see her. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. The rest. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side.
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This video was uploaded to pok-ddal23.live on 09-06-2024 03:43:25
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