S. ‘Here you, Pottiswick. 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 felt, with a sudden horror, that she might weep. She no
longer felt sick or dizzy, her muscles returned to a
relaxed, supple state. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his
words. We live under man-made institutions, and that is what they amount to. They stood back together and stared at it. With his tongue
lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to
face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a
prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. He began munching his water-chestnuts—a small brown radish-shaped
vegetable, with the flavour of coconut—that grow along the river brims. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. He did not disturb any of this litter, but left it as a mark of his
prowess. "Not entirely," replied Jonathan, calmly; "though I shouldn't be ashamed of it if
it were.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 10-07-2024 01:00:49