Soon, they fattened up, their cheeks rosy and their hair shining. 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. His tone was rough, almost threatening. "Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. But he reckoned without his host.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 01-06-2024 02:12:54
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