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"What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth. 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. ” John’s father added. ’ The old man simply stared at her. My father has made every possible inquiry, and offered large rewards; but has not been able to discover the slightest trace of him.
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