Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; "put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder. “I want to make love for the first time tonight. In vain he fondly urged his suit, And, all in vain, the question put; She answered,—"Mr. 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. If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene.
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