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. At once. Haven’t I ever told you about them?” Michelle asked. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. ‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. “Had he better have a nurse? I will be responsible for anything of that sort. " "I shouldn't call her queer. "What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley.
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