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 have no intention of arresting you. Wood;—"Owen—Owen!—Thames, help!" "Coming!" cried Mr. "Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. “I’m not going to kill you, John. Wood struck me a blow which made me a robber.
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