But a total stranger, a man you never saw twentyfour hours ago! It can't be thought of. ’ Saling coughed. We came on here at once. Charming girl. "Not exactly," answered Jonathan, drily. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. 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 Procession to Tyburn 462 XXXII.
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