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. "The lash cuts to the bone. Sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb.
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This video was uploaded to southmsnightout.com on 19-07-2024 23:38:41
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