The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. "Past noon," replied Blueskin. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III.
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