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’m glad you’re back for all sorts of reasons. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. ” He spoke a little nervously. . “That thing’s going on,” she told herself.
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