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. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. Hurry. Every minute I spend here is an education to me.
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This video was uploaded to fairlopwaters.info on 16-07-2024 12:09:23
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