Destruction everywhere marked its course. " "Heaven help her!" sighed Jack. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. "Jack Sheppard's face is well worth preserving. 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.
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