But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. “So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. Ramage back his forty pounds. 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.
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