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. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. Would a hundred dollars interest you?" "Very much, if I can earn it without offending my conscience. This was what he missed. Part 6 He became quite sure, by a sort of accumulation of reflection, as the day wore on.
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