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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. Part 2 The next few weeks were a time of the very liveliest thought and growth for Ann Veronica. " "Oh, God!" cried Jack, "she does not know me. Look here. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery.
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