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(“Good job. That is what they think we are for!” “We’re beasts,” said Teddy. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes. " "Whom do you mean?" demanded Jackson. 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. Wait, though. " "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack.
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