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’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. “Ask me nothing. He shall expiate his offences on the gibbet. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. She reflected before answering. Not enough of them to make a difference. 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.
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This video was uploaded to borgodeltaglio.com on 18-07-2024 23:58:59
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