How Jack Sheppard got out of the Condemned Hold. 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. And here against a wall were the plumtrees. Jackson, to the swig. I am loved. Do you know what Spurlock has done?" "Mr. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally.
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