She went to her own table and sat down. 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. "To the world's end," answered Jack, darting after him. “As it is doubtful whether the man will live, we should be glad if you would identify him. I wonder what he meant by that?" "The Lord knows!" The patient was restless during the first watch of the night. ” “You know, Mr.
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