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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. ‘Here you, Pottiswick. Wood started to his feet. “Quite on my own,” she said.
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This video was uploaded to woodsdrivingschool.com on 21-09-2024 22:18:08
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