\" \"Good night, Mom. 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. The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. “What has he done? “What shall I do. ” Lucy added, growing weary. She brought her face to his chest, turning her head sideways so he would not notice her elongated canines. Oddly, Sebastian chose to be charioteer.
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