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. E. "I'm sure little Jack has but one friend beside myself, in the world, and that's more than I would have ventured to say for him yesterday. "Instantly, Hobson," returned Lady Trafford; "as soon as the carriage can be brought round. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. “I thought I was just up against Morningside Park and father, but it’s the whole order of things—the whole blessed order of things.
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