This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. The poor fellow's half smothered. I promise not to do it again. 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. Wild here presently. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. “I wonder if you give me a thought. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. "Will he post the cole? Will he come down with the dues? Ask him that?" cried Blueskin.
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