By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely.
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