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. ” “Go!” he said. On the contrary, it was impossible to look at him without perceiving that his resolution was unshaken. ’ Reminiscence made him smile. ” Thank Heaven! Mr. But supposing he is? Supposing he made but one misstep? Your island would be a haven of security. But it was otherwise with the carpenter.
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