” He drank. "'Odd's! bodikins!" cried Jack, rubbing his cheek, "I'm in luck to-day. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. For a big-bellied glass is the palette I use, And the choicest of wine is my colour; And I find that my nose takes the mellowest hues The fuller I fill it—the fuller! IV. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. He figures them out, though.
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