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. I was perfectly satisfied with your appearance. " The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. “I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. "During the whole of that time I have been a close prisoner in Newgate, whence I have only just escaped. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. Ain't we, partner?" he added, appealing to Langley, whom punch had made rather dozy. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything.
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