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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. . “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. ’ ‘Nonsense. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner. Something seemed awry. “Thousands! Ugh! And found it a worse slavery. My opportunities have been immense, and my failure utter. It is better as it is. Something to tell you. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character.

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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 23-06-2024 05:29:09

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