" "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. ‘You are the one that I have met in London. "Well, who'd have thought of Shotbolt beating us all in this way!" said Ireton. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III.
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