Austin, may repeat it if he pleases to his master, Jonathan Wild,—I have not. 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. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. Most of my successes in life have been made with a sort of reckless vigor.
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