And the Duke, too—I heard him say that a married secretary would be worse than useless to him. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded 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. Where's Jonathan?" Inquiries were instantly made after that individual, but he was nowhere to be found.
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