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 believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. You have been burning paper, I see. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. “Is that all you have to say?” Michelle challenged her. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar.
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This video was uploaded to woodsdrivingschool.com on 19-09-2024 10:10:18
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