. 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 wants that and needs it more than anything else in the world. "You'll find her quiet enough to-day, Sir," observed the woman, as they walked along; "but she has been very outrageous latterly. —'How so?' says I. She thought she had hidden well from him. Having seen him heavily ironed, and placed in the Condemned Hold, Jonathan recrossed the street. "Do you know what you are talking about, Mrs. .
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