" Jack started to his feet; but before he could defend himself, his right arm was grasped by the Jew who had silently approached him. 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. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall.
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