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. If he did resemble me, I shouldn't care about him. “Well, I do. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. You can have no shecrets from me. “No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. Can I be of any assistance? I can assure you that it would give me very much pleasure.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 26-06-2024 11:37:51
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