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. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one. He declined supper, but took wine.
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