Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. ‘Don’t be so absurd. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. "Your sympathy is being wasted. "If you are in earnest, Thames," she replied, with a look of gentle reproach, "you are very foolish; and, if in jest, very cruel.
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