‘Oh, peste. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate. As you know my seed is infertile with all women, they are no more than cattle, but it was not so with my Rhea. They’re fairly intricate little things. 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. She will take me in until I can make some plans.
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This video was uploaded to allatseaonline.com on 29-05-2024 01:37:14
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