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. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him. " "Ah! indeed! what's he doing here?" inquired Jack. “This is all rot!” he declared angrily. "Release him," said Jonathan. Do not remain with me.
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