I wanted the magic of love. " "Hum!" said Hogarth, looking fixedly at him. 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. You would not have the slightest difficulty. Marvel, therefore, remained on his probation. "Has he escaped?" asked the thief-taker, faintly. " "So have we all. But if he's in bed, how the devil is he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhook comes up to-morrow night.
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