The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. 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. Fairbanks, AK, 99712. Yes, I can readily believe it. The Procession to Tyburn. " "Not utterly," rejoined the other. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false. Only you good ones— shirk. “I’m not going to kill you, John.
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